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UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA     SAN   DIEGO 


3  1822  01288  0324 


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SHE   LAID    HER    HAND   ON    HIS    ARM,  AND    FOR    A    MOMENT 
HIS    FINGERS    PRESSED    HERS 


[See  p.  i3 


WITH  EDGED  TOOLS 


A  NOVEL 


HENRY  SETON  MERRIMAN 


ILLUSTRATED 


HARPER   &  BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK    AND    LONDON 


COPYRIGHT.    IB94.    BY   HARPER   a    BROTHERS 

PRINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF   AMERICA 

I-P 


CONTENTS 


CHAP.  PAGB 

I.    TWO    GENERATIONS 1 

II.    OVER    THE  OLD    GROUND 8 

III.  A    FAREWELL 16 

IV.  A    TRAGEDY o 23 

V.    WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 30 

VI.    UNDER    THE    LINE 36 

VII.    THE    SECRET    OF   THE    SIMIACINK       .........  43 

VIII.    A    RECRUIT 51 

IX.    TO    PASS    THE    TIME 58 

X.    LOANGO 65 

XI.    A   COMPACT         .      .      .      .      .      , 73 

XII.    A    MEETING 81 

XIII.  IN    BLACK   AND    WHITE 87 

XIV.  PANIC  -  STRICKEN 95 

XV.    A   CONFIDENCE 103 

XVI.    WAR ,110 

XVII.    UNDERHAND 118 

XVIII.    A    REQUEST . 125 

XIX.  IVORY 132 

XX.    BROUGHT   TO  THE    SCRATCH 140 

XXI.    THE    FIRST    CONSIGNMENT        ...........  148 

XXII.    THE   SECOND   CONSIGNMENT 156 

XXIII.  MERCURY 163 

XXIV.  NEME8I3 lVl 

XXV.    TO    THE    RESCUE 178 

XXVI.    IN    PERIL 186 

XXVII.    OFF    DUTY 194 

XXVIII.    A    SLOW    RECOVERY 202 

XXIX.    A    CHANCE    ACQUAINTANCE 209 


IV  CONTENTS 

chap.  page 

xxx.  old  birds 21*7 

xxxi.  seed-time 225 

xxxii.  an  envoy 233 

xxxiii.  dark  dealing 241 

xxxiv.  among  thorns 249 

xxxv.  engaged 257 

xxxvi.  no  compromise 265 

xxxvii.  foul  play 2*72 

xxxviii.  the  accursed  camp 2*79 

xxxix.  the  extenuating  circumstance  ........  287 

xl.  sir  john's  last  card 295 

xli.  a  trois 303 

xlii.  a  strong  friendship 811 

xliii.  a  long  debt 319 

xliv.  made   up 327 

xlv.  the  telegram „    „    .    .     .  334 


WITH  EDGED   TOOLS 


CHAPTER  I 
TWO    GENERATIONS 


"  Why,  all  delights  are  vain,  but  that  most  vain 
Which  with  pain  purchased  doth  inherit  pain." 

"  My  dear — madam — what  you  call  heart  does  not  come 
into  the  question  at  all." 

Sir  John  Meredith  was  sitting  slightly  behind  Lady  Can- 
tourne,  leaning  towards  her  with  a  somewhat  stiffened  rep- 
lica of  his  former  grace.  But  he  was  not  looking  at  her 
— and  she  knew  it. 

They  were  both  watching  a  group  at  the  other  side  of 
the  great  ball-room. 

"  Sir  John  Meredith  on  Heart,"  said  the  old  lady,  with  a 
depth  of  significance  in  her  voice." 

"And  why  not?" 

"  Yes,  indeed.     Why  not  ?" 

Sir  John  smiled  with  that  well-bred  cynicism  which  a 
new  school  has  not  yet  succeeded  in  imitating.  They  both 
belonged  to  the  old  school,  these  two ;  and  their  vvorldliness, 
their  cynicism,  their  conversational  attitude  belonged  to  a 
by-gone  period.  It  was  a  cleaner  period  in  some  ways — a 
period  devoid  of  slums.  Ours,  on  the  contrary,  is  an  age 
of  slums,  wherein  we  all  dabble  to  the  detriment  of  our  hands 
— mental,  literary,  and  theological. 

Sir  John  moved  slightly  in  his  chair,  leaning  one  hand 


2  WITH     EDGED     TOOLS 

on  one  knee.  His  back  was  very  flat,  his  clothes  were 
perfect,  his  hair  was  not  his  own,  nor  yet  his  teeth.  But 
his  manners  were  entirely  his  own.  His  face  was  eighty 
years  old,  and  yet  he  smiled  his  keen  society  smile  with 
the  best  of  them.  There  was  not  a  young  man  in  the  room 
of  whom  he  was  afraid,  conversationally. 

"No,  Lady  Cantourne,"  he  repeated.  "Your  charming- 
niece  is  heartless.     She  will  get  on." 

Lady  Cantourne  smiled  and  drew  the  glove  farther  up 
her  stout  and  motherly  right  arm. 

"  She  will  get  on,"  she  admitted.  "  As  to  the  other,  it 
is  early  to  give  an  opinion." 

"She  has  had  the  best  of  trainings — "  he  murmured. 
And  Lady  Cantourne  turned  on  him  with  a  twinkle  amid 
the  wrinkles. 

"  For  which  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Choisissez  /"  he  answered,  with  a  bow. 

One  sees  a  veteran  swordsman  take  up  the  foil  with  a 
tentative  turn  of  the  wrist,  lunging  at  thin  air.  His  zest 
for  the  game  has  gone ;  but  the  skill  lingers,  and  at  times 
he  is  tempted  to  show  the  younger  blades  a  pass  or  two. 
These  were  veteran  fencers  with  a  skill  of  their  own  which 
they  loved  to  display  at  times.  The  zest  was  that  of  re- 
membrance; the  sword-play  of  words  was  above  the  head 
of  a  younger  generation  given  to  slang  and  music-hall  airs ; 
and  so  these  two  had  little  bouts  for  their  own  edification, 
and  enjoyed  the  glitter  of  it  vastly. 

Sir  John's  face  relaxed  into  the  only  repose  he  ever 
allowed  it;  for  he  had  a  habit  of  twitching  and  moving 
his  lips  such  as  some  old  men  have.  And  occasionally, 
in  an  access  of  further  senility,  he  fumbled  with  his  fingers 
at  his  mouth.  He  was  clean  shaven,  and  even  in  his  old 
age  he  was  handsome  beyond  other  men  —  standing  an 
upright  six  feet  two. 

The  object  of  his  attention  was  the  belle  of  that  ball, 
Miss  Millicent  Chyne,  who  was  hemmed  into  a  corner  by  a 


TWO    GENERATIONS  3 

group  of  eager  dancers  anxious  to  insert  their  names  in 
some  corner  of  her  card.  She  was  the  fashion  at  that  time. 
And  she  probably  did  not  know  that  at  least  half  of  the 
men  crowded  round  because  the  other  half  were  there. 
Nothing  succeeds  like  the  success  that  knows  how  to  draw 
a  crowd. 

She  received  the  ovation  self -possessedly  enough,  but 
without  that  hauteur  affected  by  belles  of  balls — in  books. 
She  seemed  to  have  a  fresh  smile  for  each  new  applicant — 
a  smile  which  conveyed  to  each  in  turn  the  fact  that  she 
had  been  attempting  all  along  to  get  her  programme  safely 
into  his  hands.  A  halting  masculine  pen  will  not  be 
expected  to  explain  how  she  compassed  this,  beyond  a  gentle 
intimation  that  masculine  vanity  had  a  good  deal  to  do 
with  her  success. 

"  She  is  having  an  excellent  time,"  said  Sir  John,  weigh- 
ing on  the  modern  phrase  with  a  subtle  sarcasm.  He  was 
addicted  to  the  use  of  modern  phraseology,  spiced  with  a 
cynicism  of  his  own. 

"Yes;  I  cannot  help  sympathizing  with  her  —  a  little," 
answered  the  lady. 

"  Nor  I.     It  will  not  last." 

"  Well,  she  is  only  gathering  the  rose-buds." 

"  Wisely  so,  your  ladyship.  They  at  least  look  as  if  they 
were  going  to  last.     The  full-blown  roses  do  not." 

Lady  Cantourne  gave  a  little  sigh.  This  was  the  differ- 
ence between  them.  She  could  not  watch  without  an  occa- 
sional thought  for  a  time  that  was  no  more.  The  man 
seemed  to  be  content  that  the  past  had  been  lived  through 
and  would  never  renew  itself. 

"After  all,"  she  said,  "she  is  my  sister's  child.  The 
sympathy  may  only  be  a  matter  of  blood.  Perhaps  I  was 
like  that  myself  once.     Was  I?     You  can  tell  me." 

She  looked  slowly  round  the  room  and  his  face  hardened. 
He  knew  that  she  was  reflecting  that  there  was  no  one 
else  who  could  tell  her ;  and  he  did  not  like  it. 


4  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  No,"  he  answered,  readily. 

"  And  what  was  the  difference  ?" 

She  looked  straight  in  front  of  her  with  a  strange  old- 
fashioned  demureness. 

"Their  name  is  legion,  for  they  are  many." 

"  Name  a  few.  Was  I  as  good-looking  as  that,  for  in- 
stance ?" 

He  smiled — a  wise,  old,  woman-searching  smile. 

"  You  were  better  -  looking  than  that,"  he  said,  with  a 
glance  beneath  his  lashless  lids.  "  Moreover,  there  was 
more  of  the  grand  lady  about  you.  You  behaved  bettei\ 
There  was  less  shaking  hands  with  your  partners,  less  nod- 
ding and  becking,  and  none  of  that  modern  forwardness 
which  is  called,  I  believe,  camaraderie." 

"Thank  you,  Sir  John,"  she  answered,  looking  at  him 
frankly  with  a  pleasant  smile.  "But  it  is  probable  that  we 
had  the  faults  of  our  age." 

He  fumbled  at  his  lips,  having  reasons  of  his  own  for 
disliking  too  close  a  scrutiny  of  his  face. 

"  That  is  more  than  probable,"  he  answered,  rather  in- 
distinctly. 

"Then,"  she  said,  tapping  the  back  of  his  gloved  hand 
with  her  fan,  "  we  ought  to  be  merciful  to  the  faults  of  a 
succeeding  generation.  Tell  me,  who  is  that  young  man 
with  the  long  stride  who  is  getting  himself  introduced 
now  ?" 

"That,"  answered  Sir  John,  who  prided  himself  upon 
knowing  every  one — knowing  who  they  were  and  who  they 
were  not — "  is  young  Oscard." 

"  Son  of  the  eccentric  Oscard  ?" 

"  Son  of  the  eccentric  Oscard." 

"  And  where  did  he  get  that  brown  face  ?" 

"  He  got  that  in  Africa,  where  he  has  been  shooting. 
He  forms  part  of  some  one  else's  bag  at  the  present 
moment." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 


TWO    GENERATIONS  5 

"  He  has  beeu  apportioned  a  dance.  Your  fair  niece  has 
bagged  him." 

If  he  had  only  known  it,  Guy  Oscard  won  the  privilege 
of  a  waltz  by  the  same  brown  face  which  Lady  Cantourne 
had  so  promptly  noted.  Coupled  with  a  sturdy  upright- 
ness of  carriage,  this  raised  him  at  a  bound  above  the  pallid 
habitues  of  ball-room  and  pavement.  It  was,  perhaps,  only 
natural  that  Millicent  Chyne  should  have  noted  this  man  as 
soon  as  he  crossed  the  threshold.  He  was  as  remarkable  as 
some  free  and  dignified  denizen  of  the  forest  in  the  midst 
of  domestic  animals,  She  mentally  put  him  down  for  a 
waltz,  and  before  five  minutes  had  elapsed  he  was  bowing 
before  her  while  a  mutual  friend  murmured  his  name.  One 
does  not  know  how  young  ladies  manage  these  little  affairs, 
but  the  fact  remains  that  they  are  managed.  Moreover,  it 
is  a  singular  thing  that  the  young  persons  who  succeed  in 
the  ball-room  rarely  succeed  on  the  larger  and  rougher  floor 
of  life.  Your  belle  of  the  ball,  like  your  Senior  Wrangler, 
never  seems  to  do  much  afterwards  —  and  Afterwards  is 
Life. 

The  other  young  men  rather  fell  back  before  Guy  Oscard 
— scared,  perhaps,  by  his  long  stride,  and  afraid  that  he 
might  crush  their  puny  toes.  This  enabled  Miss  Chyne  to 
give  him  the  very  next  dance,  of  which  the  music  was  com- 
mencing. 

"  I  feel  rather  out  of  all  this,"  said  Oscard,  as  they  moved 
away  together.     "  You  must  excuse  uncouthness." 

"  I  see  no  signs  of  it,"  laughed  Millicent.  "  You  are  be- 
having very  nicely.  You  cannot  help  being  larger  and 
stronger  than — the  others.  I  should  say  it  was  an  advan- 
tage and  something  to  be  proud  of." 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  that,"  replied  Oscard  ;  "  it  is  a  feeling  of 
unkemptness  and  want  of  smartness  among  these  men  who 
look  so  clean  and  correct.     Shall  we  dance  I" 

He  looked  down  at  her  with  an  admiration  which  almost 
amounted  to  awe,  as  if  afraid  of  entering  the  throng  with 


6  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

such  a  dainty  and  wonderful  charge  upon  his  powers  of 
steering.  Millicent  Chyne  saw  the  glance  and  liked  it. 
It  was  different  from  the  others,  quite  devoid  of  criticism, 
rather  simple  and  full  of  honest  admiration.  She  was  so 
beautiful  that  she  could  hardly  be  expected  to  be  unaware 
of  the  fact.  She  bad  merely  to  make  comparisons,  to  look 
in  the  mirror  and  see  that  her  hair  was  fairer  and  softer, 
that  her  complexion  was  more  delicately  perfect,  that  her 
slight,  rounded  figure  was  more  graceful  than  any  around 
her.  Added  to  this  she  knew  that  she  had  more  to  say 
than  other  girls— a  larger  stock  of  those  little  frivolous, 
advice-seeking,  aid-demanding  nothings  than  her  compeers 
seemed  to  possess. 

She  knew  that  in  saying  them  she  could  look  brighter 
and  prettier  and  more  intelligent  than  her  competitors. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  let  us  dance  by  all  means." 

Here  also  she  knew  her  own  proficiency,  and  in  a  few 
seconds  she  found  that  her  partner  was  worthy  of  her  skill. 

"  Where  have  you  been  F'  she  asked,  presently,  "  I  am 
sure  you  have  been  away  somewhere,  exploring  or  some- 
thing." 

"  I  have  only  been  in  Africa,  shooting." 

"Ob,  how  interesting!     You  must  tell  me  all  abont  itP 

"  I  am  afraid,"  replied  Guy  Oscard,  with  a  somewhat  shy 
laugh,  "  that  that  would  not  be  interesting.  Besides,  I  could 
not  tell  you  now." 

"  No,  but  some  other  time.  I  suppose  you  are  not  going 
back  to  Africa  to-morrow,  Mr.  Oscard  f 

"Not  quite.  And  perhaps  we  may  meet  somewhere 
else." 

"  I  hope  so,"  replied  Miss  Chyne.  "  Besides,  you  know 
my  aunt,  Lady  Cantourne.     I  live  with  her,  you  know." 

"  I  know  her  slightly." 

"  Then  take  an  opportunity  of  improving  the  acquaint- 
anceship. She  is  sitting  under  the  ragged  banner  over 
there." 


TWO    GENERATIONS  7 

Millicent  Chyne  indicated  the  direction  with  a  nod  of 
the  head,  and  while  he  looked  she  took  the  opportunity  of 
glancing  hastily  rouud  the  room.  She  was  seeking  some 
one. 

"Yes,"  said  Oscard,  "  I  see  her,  talking  to  an  old  gentle- 
man who  looks  like  Voltaire.  I  shall  give  her  a  chance  of 
recognizing  me  before  the  evening  is  out.  I  don't  mind 
being  snubbed  if — " 

He  paused,  and  steered  neatly  through  a  narrow  place. 

M  If  what  ?"  she  asked,  when  they  were  in  swing  again. 

"  If  it  means  seeing  you  again,"  he  answered,  bluntly — 
more  bluntly  than  she  was  accustomed  to.  But  she  liked 
it.  It  was  a  novelty  after  the  smaller  change  of  ball-room 
compliments. 

She  was  watching  the  door  all  the  while. 

Presently  the  music  ceased,  and  they  made  their  way 
back  to  the  spot  whence  he  had  taken  her.  She  led  the 
way  thither  by  an  almost  imperceptible  pressure  of  her 
fingers  on  his  arm.  There  were  several  men  waiting  there, 
and  one  or  two  more  entering  the  room  and  looking  lan- 
guidly round. 

"There  comes  the  favored  one,"  Lady  Cantourne  mut- 
tered, with  a  veiled  glance  towards  her  companion. 

Sir  John's  gray  eyes  followed  the  direction  of  her  glance. 

"  My  bright  boy  f '  he  inquired,  with  a  wealth  of  sarcasm 
on  the  adjective. 

"  Your  bnght  boy."     She  replied. 

"  I  hope  not,"  he  said,  curtly. 

They  were  watching  a  tall  fair  man  in  the  doorway  who 
3eemed  to  know  everybody,  so  slow  was  his  progress  into 
the  room.  The  most  remarkable  thing  about  this  man  was 
a  certain  grace  of  movement.  He  seemed  to  be  specially 
constructed  to  live  in  narrow,  hampered  places.  He  was 
above  six  feet;  but,  being  of  slight  build,  he  moved  with  a 
certain  languidness  which  saved  him  from  that  unwieldiness 
usually  associated  with  large  men  in  a  drawing-room. 


8  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Such  was  Jack  Meredith,  one  of  the  best-known  figures 
in  London  society.  He  had  hitherto  succeeded  in  moving 
through  the  mazes  of  that  coterie,  as  he  now  moved  through 
this  room,  without  jarring  any  one. 


CHAPTER  II 

OVER     THE     OLD     GROUND 
"  A  man  who  never  makes  mistakes  never  makes  anything  else  either." 

Miss  Millicent  Chyne  was  vaguely  conscious  of  suc- 
cess— and  such  a  consciousness  is  apt  to  make  the  best  of 
us  a  trifle  elated.  It  was  certainly  one  of  the  best  balls  of 
the  season,  and  Miss  Chyne's  dress  was,  without  doubt,  one 
of  the  most  successful  articles  of  its  sort  there. 

Jack  Meredith  saw  that  fact,  and  noted  it  as  soon  as  he 
came  into  the  room.  Moreover,  it  pleased  him,  and  he  was 
pleased  to  reflect  that  he  was  no  mean  critic  in  such  mat- 
ters. There  could  be  no  doubt  about  it,  because  he  knew 
as  well  as  any  woman  there.  He  knew  that  Millicent  Chyne 
was  dressed  in  the  latest  fashion  —  no  furbished  -  up  gown 
from  the  hands  of  her  maid,  but  a  unique  creation  from 
Bond  Street. 

"  Well,"  she  asked,  in  a  low  voice  as  she  handed  him  her 
programme,  "  are  you  pleased  with  it  f 

"  Eminently  so." 

She  glanced  down  at  her  own  dress.  It  was  not  the 
nervous  glance  of  the  debutante,  but  the  practised  flash  of 
experienced  eyes  which  see  without  appearing  to  look. 

"  I  am  glad,"  she  murmured. 

He  handed  her  back  the  card  with  the  orthodox  smile 
and  bow  of  gratitude,  but  there  was  something  more  in  hia 
eyes. 


OVER    THE    OLD    GROUND  9 

"Is  that  what  you  did  it  for?"  he  inquired. 

"  Of  course,"  with  a  glance  half  coquettish,  half  humble. 

She  took  the  card,  and  allowed  it  to  drop  pendent  from 
her  fan  without  looking  at  it.  He  had  written  nothing  on 
it.  This  was  all  a  form.  The  dances  that  were  his  had 
been  inscribed  on  the  engagement  -  card  long  before  by 
smaller  fingers  than  his. 

She  turned  to  take  her  attendant  partner's  arm  with  a 
little  flaunt  —  a  little  movement  of  the  hips  to  bring  her 
dress,  and  possibly  herself,  more  prominently  beneath  Jack 
Meredith's  notice.  His  eyes  followed  her  with  that  incom- 
parably pleasant  society  smile  which  he  had  no  doubt  in- 
herited from  his  father.  Then  he  turned  and  mingled  with 
the  well-dressed  throng,  bowing  where  he  ought  to  bow — 
asking  with  fervor  for  dances  in  plain  but  influential  quar- 
ters where  dances  were  to  be  easily  obtained. 

And  all  the  while  his  father  and  Lady  Cantourne  watched. 

"  Yes,  I  think"  the  lady  was  saying,  "  that  that  is  the 
favored  one." 

"  I  fear  so." 

"  I  notice,"  observed  Lady  Cantourne,  "  that  he  asked 
for  a  dance." 

"  And  apparently  got  one — or  more." 

"  Apparently  so,  Sir  John." 

"  Moreover — " 

Lady  Cantourne  turned  on  him  with  her  usual  vivacity. 

"  Moreover  ?"  she  repeated. 

"  He  did  not  need  to  write  it  down  on  the  card ;  it  was 
written  there  already." 

She  closed  her  fan  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  I  sometimes  wonder,"  she  said,  "  whether,  in  our  young 
days,  you  were  so  preternaturally  observant  as  you  are 
now." 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  I  was  not.  T  affected  scales  of  the 
very  opaquest  description,  like  the  rest  of  my  kind." 

In  the  meantime  this  man's  son  was  going  about  his  busi- 


10  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

ness  with  a  leisurely  savoir-faire  which  few  could  rival. 
Jack  Meredith  was  the  beau-ideal  of  the  society  man  in  the 
best  acceptation  of  the  word.  One  met  him  wherever 
the  best  people  congregated,  and  he  invariably  seemed  to 
know  what  to  do  and  how  to  do  it  better  than  his  com- 
peers. If  it  was  dancing  in  the  season,  Jack  Meredith 
danced,  and  no  man  rivalled  him.  If  it  was  grouse-shoot- 
ing, Jack  Meredith  held  his  gun  as  straight  as  any  man. 
All  the  polite  accomplishments  in  their  season  seemed  to 
come  to  him  without  effort ;  but  there  was  in  all  the  same 
lack  of  heart  —  that  utter  want  of  enthusiasm  which  im- 
parted to  his  presence  a  subtle  suggestion  of  boredom. 
The  truth  was  that  he  was  over-educated.  Sir  John  had 
taught  him  how  to  live  and  move  and  have  his  being  with 
so  minute  a  care,  so  keen  an  insight,  that  existence  seemed 
to  be  nothing  but  an  habitual  observance  of  set  rules. 

Sir  John  called  him  sarcastically  his  "  bright  boy,"  his 
"hopeful  offspring,"  the  "  pride  of  his  old  age  ;"  but  some- 
where in  his  shrivelled  old  heart  there  nestled  an  unbounded 
love  and  admiration  for  his  son.  Jack  had  assimilated  his 
teaching  with  a  wonderful  aptitude.  He  had  as  nearly  as 
possible  realized  Sir  John  Meredith's  idea  of  what  an  Eng- 
lish gentleman  should  be,  and  the  old  aristocrat's  standard 
was  uncompromisingly  high.  Public  school,  university, 
and  two  years  on  the  Continent  had  produced  a  finished 
man,  educated  to  the  finger-tips,  deeply  read,  clever,  bright, 
and  occasionally  witty ;  but  Jack  Meredith  was  at  this  time 
nothing  more  than  a  brilliant  conglomerate  of  possibilities. 
He  had  obeyed  his  father  to  the  letter  with  a  conscientious- 
ness bred  of  admiration.  He  had  always  felt  that  his  fa- 
ther knew  best.  And  now  he  seemed  to  be  waiting — pos- 
sibly for  further  orders.  He  was  suggestive  of  a  perfect 
piece  of  mechanism  standing  idle  for  want  of  work  delicate 
enough  to  be  manipulated  by  its  delicate  craft.  Sir  John 
had  impressed  upon  him  the  desirability  of  being  indepen- 
dent, and  he  had  promptly  cultivated  that  excellent  quality, 


OVER    THE    OLD    GROUND  11 

taking  kindly  enough  to  rooms  of  his  own  in  a  fashionable 
quarter.  But  upon  the  principle  of  taking  a  horse  to  the 
water  and  being  unable  to  make  him  drink,  Sir  John  had 
not  hitherto  succeeded  in  making  Jack  take  the  initiative. 
He  had  turned  out  such  a  finished  and  polished  English 
gentleman  as  his  soul  delighted  in,  and  now  he  waited  in 
cynical  silence  for  Jack  Meredith  to  take  his  life  into  his 
own  hands  and  do  something  brilliant  with  it.  All  that  he 
had  done  up  to  now  had  been  to  prove  that  he  could  attain 
to  a  greater  social  popularity  than  any  other  man  of  his 
age  and  station ;  but  this  was  not  exactly  the  success  that 
Sir  John  Meredith  coveted  for  his  son.  He  had  tasted  of 
this  success  himself,  and  knew  its  thinness  of  flavor — its 
fleeting  value. 

Behind  his  keen  old  eyes  such  thoughts  as  these  were 
passing  while  he  watched  Jack  go  up  and  claim  his  dance  at 
the  hands  of  Miss  Millicent  Chyne.  He  could  almost  guess 
what  they  said ;  for  Jack  was  grave,  and  she  smiled  demure- 
ly. They  began  dancing  at  once,  and  as  soon  as  the  floor 
became  crowded  they  disappeared. 

Jack  Meredith  was  an  adept  at  such  matters.  He  knew 
a  seat  at  the  end  of  a  long  passage  where  they  could  sit,  the 
beheld  of  all  beholders  who  happened  to  pass ;  but  no  one 
could  possibly  overhear  their  conversation — no  one  could 
surprise  them.     It  was  essentially  a  strategical  position. 

"  Well,"  inquired  Jack,  with  a  peculiar  breathlessness, 
when  they  were  seated,  "  have  you  thought  about  it  ?" 

She  gave  a  little  nod. 

They  seemed  to  be  taking  up  some  conversation  at  a 
point  where  it  had  been  dropped  on  a  previous  occasion. 

"  And  ?"  he  inquired,  suavely.  The  society  polish  was 
very  thickly  coated  over  the  man,  but  his  eyes  had  a  hungry 
look. 

By  way  of  reply  her  gloved  hand  crept  out  towards  his, 
which  rested  on  the  chair  at  his  side. 

"  Jack !"  she  whispered ;  and  that  was  all. 


12  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

It  was  very  prettily  done,  and  quite  naturally.  He  was 
a  judge  of  such  matters,  and  appreciated  the  girlish  sim- 
plicity of  the  action  fully. 

He  took  the  small  gloved  hand  and  pressed  it  lovingly. 
The  thoroughness  of  his  social  training  prevented  any  fur- 
ther display  of  affection. 

"  Thank  Heaven  !"  he  murmured. 

They  were  essentially  of  the  nineteenth  century — these 
two.  At  a  previous  dance  he  had  asked  her  to  marry  him ; 
she  had  deferred  her  answer,  and  now  she  had  given  it. 
These  little  matters  are  all  a  question  of  taste.  We  do  not 
kneel  nowadays,  either  physically  or  morally.  If  we  are  a 
trifle  off-hand,  it  is  the  women  who  are  to  blame.  They 
should  not  write  in  magazines  of  a  doubtful  reputation  in 
language  devoid  of  the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  They  are  equal 
to  us.  Bienf  One  does  not  kneel  to  an  equal.  A  better 
writer  than  any  of  us  says  that  men  serve  women  kneeling, 
and  when  they  get  to  their  feet  they  go  away.  We  are  be- 
ing hauled  up  to  our  feet  now. 

"  But —  "  began  the  girl,  and  went  no  further. 
"  But  what  ?" 

"  There  will  be  difficulties." 

"  No  doubt,"  he  answered,  with  quiet  mockery.  "  There 
always  are.  I  will  see  to  them.  Difficulties  are  not  without 
a  certain  advantage.     They  keep  one  on  the  alert." 

"  Your  father,"  said  the  girl.     "  Sir  John— he  will  object." 
Jack  Meredith  reflected  for  a  moment,  lazily,  with  that 
leisureliness  which  gave  a  sense  of  repose  to  his  presence. 
"  Possibly,"  he  admitted,  gravely. 

"  He  dislikes  me,"  said  the  girl.  "  He  is  one  of  my  fail- 
ures." 

"  I  did  not  know  you  had  any.  Have  you  tried  ?  I  can- 
not quite  admit  the  possibility  of  failure." 

Millicent  Chyne  smiled.  He  had  emphasized  the  last  re- 
mark with  lover -like  glance  and  tone.  She  was  young 
enough;   her  own  beauty  was  new  enough  to  herself  to 


OVER    THE    OLD    GROUND  13 

blind  her  to  the  possibility  mentioned.  She  had  not  even 
got  to  the  stage  of  classifying  as  dull  all  men  who  did  not 
fall  in  love  with  her  at  first  sight.  It  was  her  first  season, 
one  must  remember. 

"  I  have  not  tried  very  hard,"  she  said ;  "  but  I  don't  see 
why  I  should  not  fail." 

"  That  is  easily  explained." 

"  Why  ?" 

"  No  looking-glass  about." 

She  gave  a  little  pout,  but  she  liked  it. 

The  music  of  the  next  dance  was  beginning,  and,  remem- 
bering their  social  obligations,  they  both  rose.  She  laid  her 
hand  on  his  arm,  and  for  a  moment  his  fingers  pressed  hers. 
He  smiled  down  into  her  upturned  eyes  with  love,  but  with- 
out passion.  He  never  for  a  second  risked  the  "  gentle- 
man "  and  showed  the  "  man."  He  was  suggestive  of  a 
forest  pool  with  a  smiling,  rippled  surface.  There  might 
be  depth,  but  nothing  had  yet  reached  beyond  the  surface. 

"  Shall  we  go  now,"  he  said,  "  and  say  a  few  words  in 
passing  to  my  redoubtable  father?     It  might  be  effective." 

"  Yes,  if  you  like,"  she  answered,  promptly.  There  is 
no  more  confident  being  on  earth  than  a  pretty  girl  in  a 
successful  dress. 

They  met  Sir  John  at  the  entrance  of  the  ball-room.  He 
was  wandering  about,  taking  in  a  vast  deal  of  detail. 

"  Well,  young  lady,"  he  said,  with  an  Old- World  bow, 
"  are  you  having  a  successful  evening  ?" 

Millicent  laughed.  She  never  knew  quite  how  to  take 
Sir  John. 

"Yes,  I  think  so,  thank  you,"  she  answered,  with  a 
pretty  smile.     "  I  am  enjoying  myself  very  much." 

There  was  just  the  loast  suggestion  of  shyness  in  her 
manner,  and  it  is  just  possible  that  this  softened  the  old 
cynic's  heart,  for  his  manner  was  kinder,  and  almost 
fatherly  when  he  spoke  again. 

•'  Ah  1"  he  said,  "  at  your  time  of  life  you  do  not  want 


14  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

much  —  plenty  of  partners  and  a  few  ices.  Both  easily 
obtainable." 

The  last  words  were  turned  into  a  compliment  by  the 
courtly  inclination  of  the  head  that  accompanied  them. 

The  exigencies  of  the  moment  forced  the  young  people 
to  go  with  the  stream. 

"  Jack,"  said  Sir  John,  as  they  passed  on,  "  when  you 
have  been  deprived  of  Miss  Chyne's  society,  come  and  con- 
sole yourself  with  a  glass  of  sherry." 

The  dutiful  son  nodded  a  semi-indifferent  acquiescence 
and  disappeared. 

"  Wonderful  thing,  sherry  !"  observed  Sir  John  Meredith, 
for  his  own  edification. 

He  waited  there  until  Jack  returned,  and  then  they  set 
off  in  search  of  refreshment.  The  son  seemed  to  know  his 
whereabouts  better  than  the  father. 

"  This  way,"  he  said — "  through  the  conservatory." 

Amid  the  palms  and  tropical  ferns  Sir  John  paused. 
A  great  deal  of  care  had  been  devoted  to  this  conservatory. 
Half  hidden  among  languorous  scented  flowers  were  a 
thousand  tiny  lights,  while  overhead  in  the  gloom  towered 
graceful  palms  and  bananas.  A  fountain  murmured  pleas- 
antly amid  a  cluster  of  maidenhairs.  The  music  from  the 
ball-room  fell  softly  over  all. 

Sir  John  Meredith  and  his  son  stood  in  silence,  looking 
around  them.     Finally  their  eyes  met. 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  with  that  girl  ?"  asked  Sir  John, 
abruptly. 

"  I  am,"  replied  Jack.     He  was  smiling  pleasantly. 

"  And  you  think  there  is  a  chance  of  her  marrying  you 
—  unless,  of  course,  something  better  turns  up  ?" 

"  With  all  due  modesty  I  do." 

Sir  John's  hand  was  at  his  mouth.  He  stood  up  his  full 
six  feet  two  and  looked  hard  at  his  son,  whose  eyes  were 
level  with  his  own.  They  were  ideal  representatives  of 
their  school, 


OVER    THE    OLD    GROUND  15 

"  And  what  do  you  propose  marrying  upon  ?  She,  I 
understand,  has  about  eight  hundred  a  year.  I  respect  you 
too  much  to  suspect  any  foolish  notions  of  love  in  a 
cottage." 

Jack  Meredith  made  no  reply.  He  was  entirely  depend- 
ent upon  his  father. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Sir  John,  "  when  I  die  you  will  be  a 
baronet,  and  there  will  be  enough  to  live  on  like  a  gentle- 
man. You  had  better  tell  Miss  Cbyne  that.  She  may  not 
know  it.  Girls  are  so  innocent.  Bat  I  am  not  dead  yet, 
and  I  shall  take  especial  care  to  live  some  time." 

"  In  order  to  prevent  my  marriage  ?"  suggested  Jack. 
He  was  still  smiling,  and  somehow  Sir  John  felt  a  little 
uneasy.     He  did  not  understand  that  smile. 

"  Precisely  so,"  he  said,  rather  indistinctly. 

"  What  is  your  objection  ?"  inquired  Jack  Meredith, 
after  a  little  pause. 

"  I  object  to  the  girl." 

"  Upon  what  grounds?" 

"  I  should  prefer  you  to  marry  a  woman  of  heart." 

"  Heart  ?"  repeated  Jack,  with  a  suspicion  of  hereditary 
cynicism.  "  I  do  not  think  heart  is  of  much  consequence. 
Besides,  in  this  case,  surely  that  is  my  province ;  you  would 
not  have  her  wear  it  on  her  sleeve?" 

"  She  could  not  do  that :  not  enough  sleeve." 

Sir  John  Meredith  had  his  own  views  on  ladies'  dress. 

"  But,"  he  added,  "  we  will  not  quarrel.  Arrange  mat- 
ters with  the  young  lady  as  best  you  can.  I  shall  never 
approve  of  such  a  match,  and  without  my  approval  you 
cannot  well  marry." 

"  I  do  not  admit  that." 

14  Indeed  ?" 

44  Your  approval  means  money,"  explained  this  dutiful 
son  politely,  "I  might  manage  to  make  the  money  for 
myself." 

$ir  John  moved  away, 


16  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  You  might,"  he  admitted,  looking  back.  "  I  should  be 
very  glad  to  see  you  doing  so.  It  is  an  excellent  thing — 
money." 

And  he  walked  leisurely  away. 


CHAPTER  III 

A     FAREWELL 

"  Since  called 
The  Paradise  of  Fools,  to  few  unknown." 

Having  been  taught  to  take  all  the  chances  and  changes 
of  life  with  a  well-bred  calmness  of  demeanor,  Jack  Mere- 
dith turned  the  teaching  against  the  instructor.  He  pur- 
sued the  course  of  his  social  duties  without  appearing  to  de- 
vote so  much  as  a  thought  to  the  quarrel  which  had  taken 
place  in  the  conservatory.  His  smile  was  as  ready  as  ever, 
his  sight  as  keen  where  an  elderly  lady  looked  hungry,  his 
laughter  as  near  the  surface  as  society  demands.  It  is  prob- 
able that  Sir  John  suffered  more,  though  he  betrayed  noth- 
ing. Youth  has  the  upperhand  in  these  cases,  for  life  is  a 
larger  thing  when  we  are  young.  As  we  get  on  in  years, 
our  eggs,  to  use  a  homely  simile,  have  a  way  of  accumulat- 
ing into  one  basket. 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  next  morning  Sir  John  Meredith's 
valet  intimated  to  his  master  that  Mr.  Meredith  was  waiting 
in  the  breakfast-room.  Sir  John  was  in  the  midst  of  his 
toilet — a  complicated  affair,  which,  like  other  works  of  art, 
would  not  bear  contemplation  when  incomplete. 

"Tell  him,"  said  the  uncompromising  old  gentleman, 
"  that  I  will  come  down  when  I  am  ready." 

He  made  a  more  careful  toilet  than  usual,  and  finally  came 
down  in  a  gay  tweed  suit,  of  which  the  general  effect  was 


A    FAREWELL  17 

distinctly  heightened  by  a  pair  of  white  gaiters.  He  was 
upright,  trim,  and  perfectly  determined.  Jack  noted  that 
his  clothes  looked  a  little  emptier  than  usual — that  was  all. 

"  Well,"  said  the  father,  "  I  suppose  we  both  made  fools 
of  ourselves  last  night." 

"  I  have  not  yet  seen  you  do  that,"  replied  the  son,  lay- 
ing aside  the  morning  paper  which  he  had  been  reading. 

Sir  John  smiled  grimly.     He  hoped  that  Jack  was  right. 

"  Well,"  he  added,  "let  us  call  it  a  difference  of  opinion." 

"Yes." 

Something  in  the  monosyllable  made  the  old  gentleman's 
lips  twitch  nervously. 

"  I  may  mention,"  he  said,  with  a  dangerous  suavity, 
"  that  I  still  hold  to  my  opinion." 

Jack  Meredith  rose,  without  haste.  This,  like  the  inter- 
view of  the  previous  night,  was  conducted  upon  strictly 
high-bred  and  gentlemanly  lines. 

"  And  I  to  mine,"  he  said.  "  That  is  why  I  took  the  lib- 
erty of  calling  at  this  early  hour.  I  thought  that  perhaps 
we  might  effect  some  sort  of  a  compromise." 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  make  the  proposal."  Sir 
John  kept  his  fingers  away  from  his  lips  by  an  obvious  ex- 
ercise of  self-control.  "  I  am  not  partial  to  compromises ; 
they  savor  of  commerce." 

Jack  gave  a  queer,  curt  nod,  and  moved  towards  the  door. 
Sir  John  extended  his  unsteady  hand  and  rang  the  bell. 

"  Good-morning,"  he  said. 

"  Garle,"  he  added,  to  the  servant  who  stood  in  the  door- 
way, "  when  you  have  closed  the  door  behind  Mr.  Meredith, 
bring  up  breakfast,  if  you  please." 

On  the  door-step  Jack  Meredith  looked  at  his  watch.  He 
had  an  appointment  with  Millicent  Chyne  at  half-past  eleven 
—  an  hour  when  Lady  Cantourne  might  reasonably  be  ex- 
pected to  be  absent  at  the  weekly  meeting  of  a  society  which, 
under  the  guise  and  momenclature  of  friendship,  busied  itself 
in  making  servant-girls  discontented  with  their  situations. 


18  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

It  was  only  eleven  o'clock.  Jack  turned  to  the  left,  out 
of  the  4uiet  but  fashionable  street,  and  a  few  steps  took  him 
to  Piccadilly.  He  went  into  the  first  jeweller's  shop  he  saw, 
and  bought  a  plain  diamond  ring.  Then  he  walked  on  to 
keep  his  appointment  with  his  affianced  wife. 

Miss  Millicent  Chyne  was  waiting  for  him  with  that  mixt- 
ure of  maidenly  feelings  of  which  the  discreet  novelist  only 
details  a  selection.  It  is  not  customary  to  dwell  upon 
thoughts  of  vague  regret  at  the  approaching  withdrawal  of  a 
universal  admiration — at  the  future  necessity  for  discreet  and 
humdrum  behavior  quite  devoid  of  the  excitement  that  lurks 
in  a  double  meaning.  Let  it,  therefore,  be  ours  to  note  the 
outward  signs  of  a  very  natural  emotion.  Miss  Chyne  noted 
them  herself  with  care,  and  not  without  a  few  deft  touches 
to  hair  and  dress.  When  Jack  Meredith  entered  the  room 
she  was  standing  near  the  window,  holding  back  the  cur- 
tain with  one  hand  and  watching,  half  shyly,  for  his  advent. 

What  struck  her  at  once  was  his  gravity ;  and  he  must 
have  seen  the  droop  in  her  eyes,  for  he  immediately  as- 
sumed the  pleasant,  half-reckless  smile  which  the  world  of 
London  society  had  learned  to  associate  with  his  name. 

He  played  the  lover  rather  well,  with  that  finish  and  ab- 
sence of  self-consciousness  which  only  comes  from  sinceri- 
ty ;  and  when  Miss  Chyne  found  opportunity  to  look  at 
him  a  second  time  she  was  fully  convinced  that  she  loved 
him.  She  was,  perhaps,  carried  off  her  feet  a  little — meta- 
phorically speaking,  of  course  —  by  his  evident  sincerity. 
At  that  moment  she  would  have  done  anything  that  he  had 
asked  her.  The  pleasure  of  society,  the  social  amenities  of 
aristocratic  life,  seemed  to  have  vanished  suddenly  into 
thin  air,  and  only  love  was  left.  She  had  always  known 
that  Jack  Meredith  was  superior  in  a  thousand  ways  to  all 
her  admirers.  More  gentlemanly,  more  truthful,  honester, 
nobler,  more  worthy  of  love.  Beyond  that  he  was  cleverer, 
despite  a  certain  laziness  of  disposition — more  brilliant  and 
more  amusing.    He  had  always  been  to  a  great  extent  the 


A    FAREWELL  19 

chosen  one ;  and  yet  it  was  with,  a  certain  surprise  and 
sense  of  unreality  that  she  found  what  she  had  drifted  into. 
She  saw  the  diamond  ring,  and  looked  upon  it  with  the 
beautiful  emotions  aroused  by  those  small  stones  in  the 
female  breast ;  but  she  did  not  seem  to  recognize  her  own 
finger  within  the  golden  hoop. 

It  was  at  this  moment — while  she  dwelt  in  this  new  un- 
real world — that  he  elected  to  tell  her  of  his  quarrel  with 
his  father.  And  when  one  walks  through  a  maze  of  un- 
realities nothing  seems  to  come  amiss  or  to  cause  surprise. 
He  detailed  the  very  words  they  had  used,  and  to  Millicent 
Chyne  it  did  not  sound  like  a  real  quarrel  such  as  might 
affect  two  lives  to  their  very  end.  It  was  not  important. 
It  did  not  come  into  her  life ;  for  at  that  moment  she  did 
not  know  what  her  life  was. 

"  And  so,"  said  Jack  Meredith,  finishing  his  story,  "  we 
have  begun  badly — as  badly  as  the  most  romantic  might 
desire." 

"  Yes,  theoretically  it  is  consoling.  But  I  am  sorry, 
Jack,  very  sorry.     I  hate  quarrelling  with  anybody." 

"  So  do  I.  I  haven't  time,  as  a  rule.  But  the  old  gen- 
tleman is  so  easy  to  quarrel  with,  he  takes  all  the  trouble." 

"  Jack,"  she  said,  with  pretty  determination.  "  You 
must  go  and  say  you  are  sorry.  Go  now  !  I  wish  I  could 
go  with  you." 

But  Meredith  did  not  move.  He  was  smiling  at  her  in 
evident  admiration.  She  looked  very  pretty  with  that  de- 
termined little  pout  of  the  lips,  and  perhaps  she  knew  it. 
Moreover,  he  did  not  seem  to  attach  so  much  importance 
to  the  thought  as  to  the  result — to  the  mind  as  to  the  lips. 

"  Ah !"  he  said,  "  you  do  not  know  the  old  gentleman. 
That  is  not  our  way  of  doing  things.    We  are  not  expansive." 

His  face  was  grave  again,  and  she  noticed  it  with  a  sud- 
den  throb  of  misgiving.  She  did  not  want  to  begin  taking 
life  seriously  so  soon.  It  was  like  going  back  to  school  in 
the  middle  of  the  holidays, 


20  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  But  it  will  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two,  will  it  not?  It 
is  not  serious,"  she  said. 

"  I  arn  afraid  it  is  serious,  Millicent." 

He  took  her  hand  with  a  gravity  which  made  matters 
worse. 

"  What  a  pity  !"  she  exclaimed ;  and  somehow  both  the 
words  and  the  speaker  rang  shallow.  She  did  not  seem  to 
grasp  the  situation,  which  was  perhaps  beyond  her  reach. 
But  she  did  the  next  best  thing.  She  looked  puzzled, 
pretty,  and  helpless. 

"  What  is  to  be  done,  Jack  ?"  she  said,  laying  her  two 
hands  on  his  breast  and  looking  up  pleadingly. 

There  was  something  in  the  man's  clear-cut  face — some- 
thing beyond  aristocratic  repose — as  he  looked  down  into 
her  eyes — something  which  Sir  John  Meredith  might  per- 
haps have  liked  to  see  there.  To  all  men  comes,  soon  or 
late,  the  moment  wherein  their  lives  are  suddenly  thrust 
into  their  own  hands  to  shape  or  spoil,  to  make  or  mar. 
It  seemed  that  where  a  clever  man  had  failed,  this  light- 
hearted  girl  was  about  to  succeed.  Two  small  clinging 
hands  on  Jack  Meredith's  breast  had  apparently  wrought 
more  than  all  Sir  John's  care  and  foresight.  At  last  the 
light  of  energy  gleamed  in  Jack  Meredith's  lazy  eyes.  At 
last  he  faced  the  "  initiative,"  and  seemed  in  nowise  abashed. 

"There  are  two  things,"  he  answered:  "a  small  choice." 

"  Yes." 

"  The  first,  and  the  simplest,"  he  went  on  in  the  tone  of 
voice  which  she  had  never  quite  fathomed — half  cynical, 
half  amused — "  is  to  pretend  that  last  night — never  was." 

He  waited  for  her  verdict. 

"  We  will  not  do  that,"  she  replied,  softly  ;  "  we  wilL 
take  the  other  alternative,  whatever  it  is." 

She  glanced  up  half  shyly  beneath  her  lashes,  and  he  felt 
that  no  difficulty  could  affright  him. 

"  The  other  is  generally  supposed  to  be  very  difficult,"  he 
said.     "  It  means — waiting." 


A    FAREWELL  21 

"  Oh,"  she  answered,  cheerfully,  "  there  is  no  hurry.  1 
do  not  want  to  be  married  yet." 

"  Waiting  perhaps  for  years,"  he  added — and  he  saw  her 
face  drop. 

«  Why  ?" 

"Because  I  am  dependent  on  my  father  for  everything. 
We  could  not  marry  without  his  consent." 

A  peculiar,  hard  look  crept  into  her  eyes,  and  in  some 
subtle  way  it  made  her  look  older.  After  a  little  pause  she 
said: 

"But  we  can  surely  get  that — between  us?" 

"  I  propose  doing  without  it." 

She  looked  up — past  him — out  of  the  window.  All  the 
youthfulness  seemed  to  have  left  her  face,  but  he  did  not 
appear  to  see  that. 

"  How  can  you  do  so  1" 

"  Well,  I  can  work.  I  suppose  I  must  be  good  for  some- 
thing—  a  bountiful  Providence  must  surely  have  seen  to 
that.  The  difficulty  is  to  find  out  what  it  intends  me  for. 
We  are  not  called  in  the  night  nowadays  to  a  special  mis- 
sion— we  have  to  find  it  out  for  ourselves." 

"Do  you  know  what  I  should  like  you  to  be?"  she  said, 
with  a  bright  smile  and  one  of  those  sudden  descents  into 
shallowness  which  he  appeared  to  like. 

"  What  ?" 

"A  politician." 

"Then  I  shall  be  a  politician,"  he  answered,  with  lover- 
like promptness. 

"  That  would  be  very  nice,"  she  said ;  and  the  castles  she 
at  once  began  to  build  were  not  entirely  aerial  in  their 
structure. 

This  was  not  a  new  idea.  They  had  talked  of  politics 
before  as  a  possible  career  for  himself.  They  had  moved  in 
a  circle  where  politics  and  politicians  held  a  first  place  —  a 
circle  removed  above  the  glamour  of  art,  and  wherein  Bohe- 
mianisra  was  not  reckoned  an  attraction.     She  knew  that 


22  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

behind  his  listlessness  of  manner  he  possessed  a  certain 
steady  energy,  perfect  self-command,  and  that  combination 
of  self-confidence  and  indifference  which  usually  attains  suc- 
cess in  the  world.  She  was  ambitious  not  only  for  herself, 
but  for  him,  and  she  was  shrewd  enough  to  know  that  the 
only  safe  outlet  for  a  woman's  ambition  is  the  channel  of  a 
husband's  career. 

"  But,"  he  said,  "  it  will  mean  waiting." 

He  paused,  and  then  the  worldly  wisdom  which  he  had 
learned  from  his  father  —  that  worldly  wisdom  which  is 
sometimes  called  cynicism — prompted  him  to  lay  the  mat- 
ter before  her  in  its  worst  light. 

"  It  will  mean  waiting  for  a  couple  of  years  at  least.  And 
for  you  it  will  mean  the  dulness  of  a  long  engagement,  and 
the  anomalous  position  of  an  engaged  girl  without  her  right- 
ful protector.  It  will  mean  that  your  position  in  society 
will  be  quite  different — that  half  the  world  will  pity  you, 
while  the  other  half  thinks  you  —  well,  a  fool  for  your 
pains." 

"  I  don't  care,"  she  answered. 

"  Of  course,"  he  went  on,  "  I  must  go  away.  That  is  the 
only  way  to  get  on  in  politics  in  these  days.  I  must  go 
away  and  get  a  specialty.  I  must  know  more  about  some 
country  than  any  other  man  ;  and  when  I  come  back  I  must 
keep  that  country  ever  before  the  eye  of  the  intelligent 
British  workman  who  reads  the  half-penny  evening  paper. 
That  is  fame — those  are  politics." 

She  laughed.  There  seemed  to  be  no  fear  of  her  taking 
life  too  seriously  yet.  And,  truth  to  tell,  he  did  not  appear 
to  wish  her  to  do  so. 

"  But  you  must  not  go  very  far,"  she  said,  sweetly. 

"  Africa." 

"  Africa?     That  does  not  sound  interesting." 

"  It  is  interesting;  moreover,  it  is  the  coming  country.  I 
may  be  able  to  make  money  out  there,  and  money  is  a  ne- 
cessity at  present." 


A    TRAGEDY  23 

"  I  do  not  like  it,  Jack,"  she  said,  in  a  foreboding  voice. 
"  When  do  you  go  ?" 

"  At  once — in  fact,  I  came  to  say  good-bye.  It  is  better 
to  do  these  things  very  promptly — to  disappear  before  the 
onlookers  have  quite  understood  what  is  happening.  When 
they  begin  to  understand,  they  begin  to  interfere.  They 
cannot  help  it.    I  will  write  to  Lady  Cantourne  if  you  like." 

"  No,  I  will  tell  her." 

So  he  bade  her  good-bye,  and  those  things  that  lovers  say 
were  duly  said ;  but  they  are  not  for  us  to  chronicle.  Such 
words  are  better  left  to  be  remembered  or  forgotten  as  time 
and  circumstance  and  result  may  decree.  For  one  may 
never  tell  what  words  will  do  when  they  are  laid  within  the 
years  like  the  little  morsel  of  leaven  that  leaveneth  the 
whole. 


CHAPTER   IV 
A  TRAGEDY 

"  Who  knows  ?  the  man  is  proven  by  the  hour." 

In  his  stately  bedroom  on  the  second  floor  of  the  quietest 
house  in  Russell  Square  Mr.  Thomas  Oscard — the  eccentric 
Oscard — lay,  perhaps,  a-dying. 

Thomas  Oscard  had  written  the  finest  history  of  an  ex- 
tinct people  that  had  ever  been  penned  ;  and  it  has  been  de- 
creed that  he  who  writes  a  fine  history  and  paints  a  fine 
picture  can  hardly  be  too  eccentric.  Our  business,  however, 
does  not  lie  in  the  life  of  this  historian — a  life  which  cer- 
tain grave  wiseacres  from  the  West  (End)  had  shaken  their 
heads  over  a  few  hours  before  we  find  him  lying  prone  on  a 
four-poster,  counting  for  the  thousandth  time  the  number 
of  tassels  fringing  the  roof  of  it.  In  bold  contradiction 
of  the  medical  opinion,  the    nurse  was,  however,  hopeful. 


24  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Whether  this  comforting  condition  of  mind  arose  from  long 
experience  of  the  ways  of  doctors,  or  from  an  acquired 
philosophy,  it  is  not  our  place  to  inquire.  But  that  her 
opinion  was  sincere  is  not  to  be  doubted.  She  had,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  gone  to  the  pantomime,  leaving  the  patient 
under  the  immediate  eye  of  his  son,  Guy  Oscard. 

The  temporary  nurse  was  sitting  in  a  cretonne  -  covered 
arm-chair,  with  a  book  of  travel  on  his  knee,  and  thoughts 
of  Millicent  Chyne  in  his  mind.  The  astute  have  no  doubt 
discovered  ere  this  that  the  mind  of  Mr.  Guy  Oscard  was  a 
piece  of  mental  mechanism  more  noticeable  for  solidity  of 
structure  than  brilliancy  or  rapidity  of  execution.  Thoughts 
and  ideas  and  principles  had  a  strange  way  of  getting  mixed 
up  with  the  machinery,  and  sticking  there.  Guy  Oscard 
had,  for  instance,  concluded  some  years  before  that  the 
Winchester  rifle  was,  as  he  termed  it,  "  no  go ;"  and,  if  the 
Pope  of  Rome  and  the  patentee  of  the  fire-arm  in  question 
had  crossed  Europe  upon  their  bended  knees  to  persuade 
him  to  use  a  Winchester  rifle,  he  would  have  received  them 
with  a  pleasant  smile  and  an  offer  of  refreshment.  He 
would  have  listened  to  their  arguments  with  that  patience 
of  manner  which  characterizes  men  of  large  stature,  and  for 
the  rest  of  his  days  he  would  have  continued  to  follow  big 
game  with  an  "  Express  "  double  -  barrelled  rifle  as  hereto- 
fore. Men  who  decide  such  smaller  matters  as  these  for 
themselves,  after  mature  and  somewhat  slow  consideration, 
have  a  way  of  also  deciding  the  larger  issues  of  life  without 
pausing  to  consider  either  expediency  or  the  experience  of 
their  neighbors. 

During  the  last  forty-eight  hours  Guy  Oscard  had  made 
the  decision  that  life  without  Millicent  Chyne  would  not  be 
worth  having,  and  in  the  hush  of  the  great  house  he  was 
pondering  over  this  new  feature  in  his  existence.  Like  all 
deliberate  men,  he  was  placidly  sanguine.  Something  in 
the  life  of  a  savage  sport  that  he  had  led  had  no  doubt 
taught  him  to  rely  upon  his  own  nerve  and  capacity  more 


A    TRAGEDY  25 

than  most  men  do.     It  is  the  in-door  atmosphere  that  con- 
tains the  germ  of  pessimism. 

His  thoughts  cannot  have  been  disturbing,  for  presently 
his  eyes  closed  and  he  appeared  to  be  slumbering.  If  it 
was  sleep,  it  was  the  light  unconsciousness  of  the  traveller; 
for  a  sound  so  small  that  waking  ears  could  scarce  have 
heard  it  caused  him  to  lift  his  lashes  cautiously.  It  was 
the  sound  of  bare  feet  on  carpet. 

Through  his  lashes  Guy  Oscard  saw  his  father  standing 
on  the  hearth-rug  within  two  yards  of  him.  There  was 
something  strange,  something  unnatural  and  disturbing, 
about  the  movements  of  the  man  that  made  Guy  keep 
quite  still — watching  him. 

Upon  the  mantel  -  piece  the  medicine  bottles  were  ar- 
ranged in  a  row,  and  the  "eccentric  Oscard"  was  studying 
the  labels  with  a  feverish  haste.  One  bottle — a  blue  one — 
bore  two  labels;  the  smaller  one,  of  brilliant  orange  color, 
with  the  word  "  Poison"  in  startling  simplicity.  He  took 
this  up  and  slowly  drew  the  cork.  It  was  a  liniment  for 
neuralgic  pains  in  an  overwrought  head — belladonna.  He 
poured  some  into  a  medicine-glass,  carefully  measuring  two 
table-spoonfuls. 

Then  Guy  Oscard  sprang  up  and  wrenched  the  glass 
away  from  him,  throwing  the  contents  into  the  fire,  which 
flared  up.  Quick  as  thought,  the  bottle  was  at  the  sick 
man's  lips.  He  was  a  heavily  built  man  with  powerful  limbs. 
Guy  seized  his  arm,  closed  with  him,  and  for  a  moment 
there  was  a  deadly  struggle,  while  the  pungent  odor  of  the 
poison  filled  the  atmosphere.  At  last  Guy  fell  back  on  art; 
he  tripped  his  father  cleverly,  and  they  both  rolled  on  the 
floor. 

The  sick  man  still  gripped  the  bottle,  but  he  could  not 
get  it  to  his  lips.  He  poured  some  of  the  stuff  over  his 
son's  face,  but  fortunately  missed  his  eyes.  They  struggled 
on  the  floor  in  the  dim  light,  panting  and  gasping,  but 
speaking  no  word.     The  strength  of  the  elder  man  was  uu- 


26  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

natural  —  it  frightened  the  younger  and  stronger  com- 
batant. 

At  last  Guy  Oscard  got  his  knee  on  his  father's  neck, 
and  bent  his  wrist  back  until  he  was  forced  to  let  go  his 
hold  on  the  bottle. 

"  Get  back  to  bed  1"  said  the  son,  breathlessly.  "  Get  back 
to  bed !" 

Thomas  Oscard  suddenly  changed  his  tactics.  He  whined 
and  cringed  to  his  own  offspring,  and  begged  him  to  give 
him  the  bottle.  He  dragged  across  the  floor  on  his  knees 
— three  thousand  pounds  a  year  on  its  knees  to  Guy  Oscard, 
who  wanted  that  money  because  he  knew  that  he  would 
never  get  Millicent  Chyne  without  it. 

"  Get  back  to  bed  !"  repeated  Guy,  sternly,  and  at  last  the 
man  crept  sullenly  between  the  rumpled  sheets. 

Guy  put  things  straight  in  a  simple,  manlike  way.  The 
doctor's  instructions  were  quite  clear.  If  any  sign  of  ex- 
citement or  mental  unrest  manifested  itself,  the  sleeping- 
draught  contained  in  a  small  bottle  on  the  mantel-piece  was 
to  be  administered  at  once,  or  the  consequences  would  be 
fatal.  But  Thomas  Oscard  refused  to  take  it.  He  seemed 
determined  to  kill  himself.  The  son  stood  over  him  and 
tried  threats,  persuasion,  prayers  ;  and  all  the  while  there 
was  in  his  heart  the  knowledge  that,  unless  his  father  could 
be  made  to  sleep,  the  reputed  three  thousand  a  year  would 
be  his  before  the  morning. 

It  was  worse  than  the  actual  physical  struggle  on  the 
floor.     The  temptation  was  almost  too  strong. 

After  a  while  the  sick  man  became  quieter,  but  he  still 
refused  to  take  the  opiate.  He  closed  his  eyes  and  made 
no  answer  to  Guy's  repeated  supplication.  Finally  he  ceased 
shaking  his  head  in  negation,  and  at  last  breathed  regularly 
like  a  child  asleep. 

Afterwards  Guy  Oscard  reproached  himself  for  suspect- 
ing nothing.  But  he  knew  nothing  of  brain  diseases — 
those  strange  maladies  that  kill  the  human  in  the  human 


A    TRAGEDY 


27 


beiriw.  He  knew,  however,  why  his  father  had  tried  to  kill 
himself.  It  was  not  the  first  time.  It  was  panic.  He 
was  afraid  of  going  mad,  of  dying  mad  like  his  father  be- 
fore him.  People  called  him  eccentric.  Some  said  that  he 
was  mad.  But  it  was  not  so.  It  was  only  fear  of  madness. 
He  was  still  asleep  when  the  nurse  came  back  from  the  pan- 
tomime in  a  cab,  and  Guy  crept  softly  down-stairs  to  let 

her  in. 

They  stood  in  the  hall  for  some  time  while  Guy  told  her 
in  whispers  about  the  belladonna  liniment.  Then  they  went 
up-stairs  together  and  found  Thomas  Oscard— the  great  his- 
torian— dead  on  the  floor.  The  liniment  bottle,  which  Guy 
had  left  on  the  mantel-piece,  was  in  his  hand — empty.  He 
had  feigned  sleep  in  order  to  carry  out  his  purpose.  He 
had  preferred  death,  of  which  the  meaning  was  unknown 
to  him,  to  the  possibility  of  that  living  death  in  which  his 
father  had  lingered  for  many  years.  And  who  shall  say 
that  his  thoughts  were  entirely  selfish?  There  may  have 
been  a  father's  love  somewhere  in  this  action.  Thomas 
Oscard,  the  eccentric  savant,  had  always  been  a  strong  man, 
independent  of  the  world's  opinion.  He  had  done  this  thing 
deliberately,  of  mature  thought,  going  straight  to  his  Crea- 
tor with  his  poor  human  brain  full  of  argument  and  reason 
to  prove  himself  right  before  the  Judge. 

They  picked  him  up  and  laid  him  reverently  on  the  bed, 
and  then  Guy  went  for  the  doctor. 

"  I  could,"  said  the  attendant  of  Death,  when  he  had 
heard  the  whole  story — "I  could  give  you  a  certificate.  I 
could  reconcile  it,  I  mean,  with  my  professional  conscience 
and  my — other  conscience.  He  could  not  have  lived  thirty 
hours — there  was  an  abscess  on  his  brain.  But  I  should 
advise  you  to  face  the  inquest.  It  might  be" — he  paused, 
looking  keenly  into  the  young  fellow's  face — "  it  might  be 
that  at  some  future  date,  when  you  are  quite  an  old  man, 
you  may  feel  inclined  to  tell  this  story." 

Again  the  doctor  paused,  glancing  with  a  vague  smile 


28  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

towards  the  woman  who  stood  beside  them.  "Or  even 
nurse — "  he  added,  not  troubling  to  finish  his  sentence. 
"  We  all  have  our  moments  of  expansiveness.  And  it  is  a 
story  that  might  easily  be — discredited." 

So  the  "eccentric  Oscard  "  finished  his  earthly  career  in 
the  intellectual  atmosphere  of  a  coroner's  jury.  And  the 
world  rather  liked  it  than  otherwise.  The  world,  one  finds, 
does  like  novelty,  even  in  death.  Some  day  an  American 
will  invent  a  new  funeral,  and,  if  he  can  only  get  the  patent, 
will  make  a  fortune. 

The  world  was,  morever,  pleased  to  pity  Guy  Oscard  with 
that  pure  and  simple  sympathy  which  is  ever  accorded  to 
the  wealthy  in  affliction.  Every  one  knew  that  Thomas 
Oscard  had  enjoyed  affluence  during  his  lifetime,  and  there 
was  no  reason  to  suppose  that  Guy  would  not  step  into  very 
comfortably  lined  shoes.  It  was  unfortunate  that  he  should 
lose  his  father  in  such  a  tragic  way,  and  the  keen  eye  of  the 
world  saw  the  weak  point  in  his  story  at  once.  But  the 
coroner's  jury  was  respectful,  and  the  rest  of  society  never 
so  much  as  hinted  at  the  possibility  that  Guy  had  not  tried 
his  best  to  keep  his  father  alive. 

Among  the  letters  of  sympathy  the  young  fellow  received 
a  note  from  Lady  Cantourne,  whose  acquaintance  he  had 
successfully  renewed,  and  in  due  course  he  called  at  her 
house  in  Vere  Gardens  to  express  somewhat  lamely  his 
gratitude. 

Her  ladyship  was  at  home,  and  in  due  course  Guy  Os- 
card was  ushered  into  her  presence.  He  looked  round  the 
room  with  a  half-suppressed  gleam  of  searching  which  was 
not  overlooked  by  Millicent  Chyne's  aunt. 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  call,"  she  said,  "  so  soon  after 
your  poor  father's  death.  You  must  have  had  a  great  deal 
of  trouble  and  worry.  Millicent  and  I  have  often  talked  of 
you  and  sympathized  with  you.  She  is  out  at  the  moment, 
but  I  expect  her  back  almost  at  once.     Will  you  sit  down  ?" 

*'  Tbaqks,"  he  said ;  and,  after  be  had  drawn  forward  a 


A   TRAGEDY  29 

chair,  he  repeated  the  word  vaguely  and  comprehensively — 
"thanks" — as  if  to  cover  as  many  demands  for  gratitude 
as  she  could  make. 

"  I  knew  your  father  very  well,"  continued  the  lady, 
"  when  we  were  young.  Great  things  were  expected  of 
him.  Perhaps  he  expected  them  himself.  That  may  have 
accounted  for  a  tone  of  pessimism  that  always  seemed  to 
pervade  his  life.  Now,  you  are  quite  different.  You  are 
not  a  pessimist — eh  ?" 

Guy  gravely  examined  the  back  of  his  gloved  hand. 
"  Well,  I  am  afraid  I  have  not  given  much  thought  to  the 
question." 

Lady  Cantourne  gave  him  the  benefit  of  a  very  wise 
smile.  She  was  unrivalled  in  the  art  of  turning  a  young 
man's  mind  inside  out  and  shaking  it. 

"  No,  you  need  not  apologize.  I  am  glad  you  have  given 
no  thought  to  it.  Thought  is  the  beginning  of  pessimism, 
especially  with  young  men  ;  for  if  they  think  at  all,  they 
naturally  think  of  themselves." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  think  as  much  of  myself  as  other 
people." 

"Possibly,  but  I  doubt  it.  Would  you  ring  the  bell? 
We  will  have  some  tea." 

He  obeyed,  and  she  watched  him  with  approval.  For 
some  reason — possibly  because  he  had  not  sought  it — Lady 
Cantourne  had  bestowed  her  entire  approval  on  this  young 
man.  She  had  been  duly  informed,  a  few  weeks  before 
this  visit,  that  Miss  Millicent  Chyne  had  engaged  herself  to 
be  married  to  Jack  Meredith  whenever  that  youth  should 
find  himself  in  a  position  to  claim  the  fulfilment  of  her 
promise.  She  said  nothing  against  her  choice  or  her  de- 
cision, merely  observing  that  she  was  sorry  that  Jack  had 
quarrelled  with  his  father.  By  way  of  counsel  she  advised 
strongly  that  the  engagement  be  kept  as  much  in  the  back- 
ground as  possible.  She  did  not,  she  said,  want  Millicent 
to  be  a  sort  of  red  rag  to  Sir  John,  and  there  was  no  neces- 


30  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

sity  to  publish  abroad  the  lamentable  fact  that  a.  quarrel 
had  resulted  from  a  very  natural  and  convenient  attach- 
ment. Sir  John  was  a  faddist,  and,  like  the  rest  of  his 
kind,  eminently  pig-headed.  It  was  more  than  likely  that 
in  a  few  months  he  would  recall  his  son,  and,  in  the  mean- 
time, it  never  did  a  girl  any  good  to  be  quarrelled  over. 

Lady  Cantourne  was  too  clever  a  woman  to  object  to  the 
engagement.  On  the  contrary,  she  allowed  it  to  be  under- 
stood that  such  a  match  was  in  many  ways  entirely  satis- 
factory. At  the  same  time,  however,  she  encouraged  Guy 
Oscard  to  come  to  the  house,  knowing  quite  well  that  he 
was  entirely  unaware  of  the  existence  of  Jack  Meredith. 

"  I  am,"  she  was  in  the  habit  of  saying,  "  a  great  advo- 
cate for  allowing  young  people  to  manage  their  affairs  them- 
selves. One  young  man,  if  he  be  the  right  one,  has  more 
influence  with  a  girl  than  a  thousand  old  women ;  and  it  is 
just  possible  that  he  knows  better  than  they  do  what  is  for 
her  happiness.     It  is  the  interference  that  makes  mischief." 

So  she  did  not  interfere.  She  merely  invited  Guy  Os- 
chard  to  stay  to  tea. 


CHAPTER  V 
WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  Do  not  give  dalliance 
Too  much  the  rein;   the  strongest  oaths  are  straw 
To  the  fire  i'  the  blood." 

"  And  what  do  you  intend  to  do  with  yourself  ?"  asked 
Lady  Cantourne  when  she  had  poured  out  tea.  "  You 
surely  do  not  intend  to  mope  in  that  dismal  house  in 
Russell  Square?" 

"  No,  I  shall  let  that  if  I  can." 

"Oh,  you  will  have  no  difficulty  in  doing  that.     People 


WITH    EDGED    TOOLS  31 

live  in  Russell  Square  again  now,  and  try  to  make  one  be- 
lieve that  it  is  a  fashionable  quarter.  Your  father  stayed 
on  there  because  the  carpets  fitted  the  rooms,  and  on  ac- 
count of  other  ancestral  conveniences.  He  did  not  live 
there — he  knew  nothing  of  his  immediate  environments. 
He  lived  in  Phoenicia." 

"  Then,"  continued  Guy  Oscard,  "  I  shall  go  abroad." 

"  Ah  !  Will  you  have  a  second  cup  ?  Why  will  you  go 
abroad  ?" 

Guy  Oscard  paused  for  a  moment.  "  I  know  an  old 
hippopotamus  in  a  certain  African  river  who  has  twice 
upset  me.     I  want  to  go  back  and  shoot  him." 

"  Don't  go  at  once ;  that  would  be  running  away  from  it 
— not  from  the  hippopotamus — from  the  inquest.  It  does 
not  matter  being  upset  in  an  African  river ;  but  you  must 
not  be  upset  in  London  by — an  inquest." 

"  I  did  not  propose  going  at  once,"  replied  Guy  Oscard, 
with  a  peculiar  smile  which  Lady  Cantourne  thought  she 
understood.  "  It  will  take  me  some  time  to  set  my  affairs 
in  order — the  will,  and  all  that." 

Lady  Cantourne  waited  with  perfectly  suppressed  curi- 
osity, and  while  she  was  waiting  Millicent  Chyne  came  into 
the  room.  The  girl  was  dressed  with  her  habitual  perfect 
taste  and  success,  and  she  came  forward  with  a  smile  of 
genuine  pleasure,  holding  out  a  small  hand  neatly  gloved  in 
Suede.  Her  ladyship  was  looking,  not  at  Millicent,  but  at 
Guy  Oscard. 

Millicent  was  glad  that  he  had  called,  and  said  so.  She 
did  not  add  that  during  the  three  months  that  had  elapsed 
since  Jack  Meredith's  sudden  departure  she  had  gradually 
recognized  the  approaching  ebb  of  a  very  full  tide  of  popu- 
larity. It  was  rather  dull  at  times,  when  Jack's  letters 
arrived  at  intervals  of  two  and  sometimes  of  three  weeks — • 
when  her  girl  friends  allowed  her  to  see  somewhat  plainly 
that  she  was  no  longer  to  be  counted  as  one  of  themselves, 
An  engagement  sits  as  it  were  on  a  young  lady  like  a. 


32  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

weak  heart  on  a  school-boy,  setting  her  apart  in  work  and 
play,  debarring  her  from  participation  in  that  game  of  life 
which  is  ever  going  forward  where  young  folks  do  con- 
gregate. 

Moreover,  she  liked  Guy  Oscard.  He  aroused  her  curi- 
osity. There  was  something  in  him — something  which  she 
vaguely  suspected  to  be  connected  with  herself — which  she 
wanted  to  drag  out  and  examine.  She  possessed  more  than 
the  usual  allowance  of  curiosity — which  is  saying  a  good 
deal ;  for  one  may  take  it  that  the  beginning  of  all  things 
in  the  feminine  mind  is  curiosity.  They  want  to  know 
what  is  inside  Love  before  they  love.  Guy  Oscard  was  a 
new  specimen  of  the  genus  homo;  and  while  remaining 
perfectly  faithful  to  Jack,  Miss  Millicent  Chyne  saw  no  rea- 
son why  she  should  not  pass  the  time  by  studying  him, 
merely,  of  course,  in  a  safe  and  innocent  manner.  She  was 
one  of  those  intelligent  young  ladies  who  think  deeply — 
about  young  men.  And  such  thinking  usually  takes  the 
form  of  speculation  as  to  how  the  various  specimens  selected 
will  act  under  specified  circumstances.  The  circumstances 
need  hardly  be  mentioned.  Young  men  are  only  interesting 
to  young  women  in  circumstances  strictly  personal  to  and 
bearing  upon  themselves.  In  a  word,  maidens  of  a  specula- 
tive mind  are  always  desirous  of  finding  out  how  different 
men  will  act  when  they  are  in  love ;  and  we  all  know  and 
cannot  fail  to  applaud  the  assiduity  with  which  they  pursue 
their  studies. 

"  Ah  !"  said  Miss  Chyne,  "  it  is  very  good  of  you  to  take 
pity  upon  two  lone  females.  I  was  afraid  that  you  had 
gone  off  to  the  wilds  of  America  or  somewhere  in  search  of 
big  game.  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Oscard,  you  are  quite  a 
celebrity  ?  I  heard  you  called  the  '  big-game  man '  the 
other  day,  also  the  '  travelling  fellow.'  " 

The  specimen  smiled  happily  under  this  delicate  handling. 

"  It  is  not,"  he  said,  modestly,  "  a  very  lofty  fame.  Any- 
body could  let  off  a  rifle." 


WITH    EDGED    TOOLS  38 

"  I  ara  afraid  I  could  not,"  replied  Millicent,  with  a  pretty 
little  shudder,  "if  anything  growled." 

"  Mr.  Oscard  has  just  been  telling  me,"  interposed  Lady 
Cantourne,  conversationally,  "that  he  is  thinking  of  going 
off  to  the  wilds  again." 

"  Then  it  is  very  disappointing  of  him,"  said  Millicent, 
with  a  little  droop  of  the  eyelids  which  went  home.  "  It 
seems  to  be  only  the  uninteresting  people  who  stay  at  home 
and  live  humdrum  lives  of  enormous  duration." 

"  He  seems  to  think  that  his  friends  are  going  to  cast  him 
off  because  his  poor  father  died  without  the  assistance  of  a 
medical  man,"  continued  the  old  lady,  meaningly. 

"  No — I  never  said  that,  Lady  Cantourne." 

"  But  you  implied  it." 

Guy  Oscard  shook  his  head.  "  I  hate  being  a  notoriety," 
he  said.  "  I  like  to  pass  through  with  the  crowd.  If  I  go 
away  for  a  little  while  I  shall  return  a  nonentity." 

At  this  moment  another  visitor  was  announced,  and 
presently  made  his  appearance.  He  was  an  old  gentleman 
of  no  personality  whatever,  who  was  nevertheless  welcomed 
effusively,  because  two  people  in  the  room  had  a  distinct  use 
for  him.  Lady  Cantourne  was  exceedingly  gracious.  She 
remembered  instantly  that  horticulture  was  among  his  some- 
what antiquated  accomplishments,  and  she  was  immediately 
consumed  with  a  desire  to  show  him  the  conservatory  which 
she  had  had  built  outside  the  drawing-room  window.  She 
took  a  genuine  interest  in  this  abode  of  flowers,  and  watered 
the  plants  herself  with  much  enthusiasm — when  she  remem- 
bered. 

Added  to  a  number  of  positive  virtues  the  old  gentleman 
possessed  that  of  abstaining  from  tea,  which  enabled  the 
two  horticulturists  to  repair  to  the  conservatory  at  once,  leav- 
ing the  young  people  alone  at  the  other  end  of  the  drawing- 
room. 

Millicent  smoothed  her  gloves  with  downcast  eyes  and 
that  demure  air  by  which  the  talented  fair  imply  the  con- 


34  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

sciousness  of  being  alone  and  out  of  others'  ear-shot  with  an 
interesting  member  of  the  stronger  sex. 

Guy  sat  and  watched  the  Suede  gloves  with  a  certain  sense 
of  placid  enjoyment.  Then  suddenly  he  spoke,  continuing 
his  remarks  where  they  had  been  broken  off  by  the  advent 
of  the  useful  old  gentleman. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  it  is  only  natural  that  a  great 
many  people  should  give  me  the  cold  shoulder.  My  story 
was  a  little  lame.  There  is  no  reason  why  they  should  be- 
lieve in  me." 

"  I  believe  in  you,"  she  answered. 

"  Thank  you." 

He  looked  at  her  in  a  strange  way,  as  if  he  liked  her 
terse  creed,  and  would  fain  have  heard  it  a  second  time. 
Then  suddenly  he  leaned  back  with  his  head  against  a 
corner  of  the  piano.  The  fronds  of  a  maidenhair  fern 
hanging  in  delicate  profusion  almost  hid  his  face.  He  was 
essentially  muscular  in  his  thoughts,  and  did  not  make  the 
most  of  his  dramatic  effects.  The  next  remark  was  make 
by  a  pair  of  long  legs  ending  off  with  patent-leather  boots 
which  were  not  quite  new.     The  rest  of  him  was  invisible. 

"  It  was  a  very  unpleasant  business,"  he  said,  in  a  jerky, 
self-conscious  voice.  "  I  didn't  know  that  I  was  that  sort 
of  fellow.  The  temptation  was  very  great.  I  nearly  gave  in 
and  let  him  do  it.  He  was  a  stronger  man  than  I.  You  know 
— we  did  not  get  on  well  together.  He  always  hoped  that 
I  would  turn  out  a  literary  sort  of  fellow,  and  I  suppose  he 
was  disappointed.  I  tried  at  one  time,  but  I  found  it  was  no 
good.  From  indifference  it  turned  almost  to  hatred.  He 
disliked  me  intensely,  and  I  am  afraid  I  did  not  care  for 
him  very  much." 

She  nodded  her  head,  and  he  went  on.  Perhaps  he  could 
see  her  through  the  maidenhair  fern.  She  was  getting 
more  and  more  interested  in  this  man.  He  obviously  dis- 
liked talking  of  himself — a  pleasant  change  which  aroused 
her  curiosity.     He  was  so  unlike  other  men,  and  his  life 


WITH     EDGED     TOOLS  35 

seemed  to  be  different  from  the  lives  of  the  men  whom  she 
had  known — stronger,  more  intense,  and  of  greater  variety 
of  incident. 

"Of  course,"  he  went  on,  "his  death  was  really  of  enor- 
mous advantage  to  me.  They  say  that  I  shall  have  two  or 
three  thousand  a  year,  instead  of  five  hundred,  paid  quarterly 
at  Cox's.  He  could  not  prevent  it  coming  to  me.  It  was  ray 
mother's  money.  He  would  have  done  so  if  he  could,  for 
we  never  disguised  our  antipathy  for  each  other.  Yet  we 
lived  together,  and — and  I  had  the  nursing  of  him." 

Millicent  was  listening  gravely  without  interrupting — like 
a  man.  She  had  the  gift  of  adapting  herself  to  her  environ- 
ments in  a  marked  degree. 

"  And,"  he  added,  curtly,  "  no  one  knows  how  much  I 
wanted  that  three  thousand  a  year." 

The  girl  moved  uneasily  and  glanced  towards  the  conser- 
vatory. 

"  He  was  not  an  old  man,"  Guy  Oscard  went  on.  "  He 
was  only  forty-nine.  He  might  have  lived  another  thirty 
years." 

She  nodded,  understanding  the  significance  of  his  tone. 

"  There,"  he  said,  with  an  awkward  laugh,  "  do  you  still 
believe  in  me?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  still  looking  into  the  conserva- 
tory. 

There  was  a  little  pause.  They  were  both  sitting  for- 
ward in  their  chairs  looking  towards  the  conservatory. 

"  It  was  not  the  money  that  tempted  me,"  said  Guy,  very 
deliberately;  "it  was  you." 

She  rose  from  her  chair  as  if  to  join  her  aunt  and  the 
horticultural  old  gentleman. 

"You  must  not  say  that,"  she  said,  in  little  more  than  a 
whisper,  and  without  looking  round  she  went  towards  Lady 
Cantourne.  Her  eyes  were  gleaming  with  a  singular  sup- 
pressed excitement,  such  as  one  sees  in  the  eyes  of  a  man 
fresh  from  a  mad  run  across  country. 


36  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Guy  Oscard  rose  also  and  followed  more  deliberately. 
There  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  to  take  his  leave. 

"  But,"  said  Lady  Cantourne,  graciously,  "  if  you  are  de- 
termined to  go  away,  you  must  at  least  come  and  say  good- 
bye before  you  leave." 

"Thanks;  I  should  like  to  do  so,  if  I  may." 

"  We  shall  be  deeply  disappointed  if  you  forget,"  said 
Millicent,  holding  out  her  hand,  with  a  smile  full  of  light- 
heartedness  and  innocent  girlish  friendship. 


CHAPTER  VI 

UNDER     THE     LINE 

-'Enough  of  simpering  and  grimace, 
Enough  of  vacuity  trimmed  with  lace." 

"  Curse  this  country !  Curse  it — curse  it !"  The  man 
spoke  aloud,  but  there  was  no  one  near  to  hear.  He  shook 
his  skinny  yellow  fist  out  over  the  broad  river  that  crept 
greasily  down  to  the  equatorial  sea. 

All  around  him  the  vegetable  kingdom  had  asserted  its 
sovereignty.  At  his  back  loomed  a  dense  forest,  impene- 
trable to  the  foot  of  man,  defying  his  puny  hand  armed 
with  axe  or  saw.  The  trees  were  not  high,  few  of  them 
being  above  twenty  feet,  but  from  their  branches  creepers 
and  parasites  hung  in  tangled  profusion,  interlaced,  joining 
tree  to  tree  for  acres,  nay  for  miles. 

As  far  as  the  eye  cold  reach  either  bank  of  the  slow  river 
was  thus  covered  with  rank  vegetation  —  mile  after  mile 
without  variety,  without  hope.  The  glassy  surface  of  the 
water  was  broken  here  and  there  by  certain  black  forms 
floating  like  logs  half  hidden  beneath  the  wave.  These 
were  crocodiles.     The  river  was  the  Ogowe,  and  the  man 


UNDER   THE    LINE  37 

who  cursed  it  was  Victor  Durnovo,  employe  of  the  Loango 
Trading  Association,  whose  business  it  was  at  that  season 
to  travel  into  the  interior  of  Africa  to  buy,  barter,  or  steal 
ivory  for  hi3  masters. 

He  was  a  small-faced  man,  with  a  squarely  aquiline  nose 
and  a  black  mustache  which  hung  like  a  valance  over  his 
mouth.  From  the  growth  of  that  curtain -like  mustache 
Victor  Durnovo's  worldly  prosperity  might  have  been  said 
to  date.  No  one  seeing  his  mouth  had  before  that  time 
been  prevailed  upon  to  trust  him.  Nature  has  a  way  of 
hanging  out  signs  and  then  covering  them  up  so  that  the 
casual  fail  to  see.  He  was  a  man  of  medium  height,  with 
abnormally  long  arms  and  a  somewhat  truculent  way  of 
walking,  as  if  his  foot  was  ever  ready  to  kick  anything  or 
any  person  who  might  come  in  his  way. 

His  movements  were  nervous  and  restless,  although  he 
was  tired  out  and  half-starved.  The  irritability  of  Africa 
was  upon  him — had  hold  over  him — gripped  him  remorse- 
lessly. No  one  knows  what  it  is,  but  it  is  there,  and  some- 
times it  is  responsible  for  murder.  It  makes  honorable 
European  gentleman  commit  crimes  of  which  they  blush  to 
think  in  after-days.  The  Powers  may  draw  up  treaties  and 
sign  the  same,  but  there  will  never  be  a  peaceful  division 
of  the  great  wasted  land  so  near  to  Southern  Europe. 
There  may  be  peace  in  Berlin,  or  Brussels,  or  London,  but 
because  the  atmosphere  of  Africa  is  not  the  same  as  that  of 
the  great  cities  there  will  be  no  peace  beneath  the  equator. 
From  the  West  Coast  of  Africa  to  the  East  men  will  fight 
and  quarrel  and  bicker  so  long  as  human  nerves  are  human 
nerves.  The  irritability  lurks  in  the  shades  of  boundless 
forests,  where  men  may  starve  for  want  of  animal  suste- 
nance; it  hovers  over  the  broad  bosoms  of  a  hundred  slow 
rivers,  haunted  by  the  mysterious  crocodile,  the  weird  hippo- 
potamus. It  is  everywhere,  and  by  reason  of  it  men  quar- 
rel over  trifles,  and  descend  to  brutal  passion  over  a  futile 
discussion, 


38  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Victor  Durnovo  bad  sent  his  boatmen  into  the  forest  to 
find  a  few  dates,  a  few  handfuls  of  firewood,  and  while 
they  were  absent  he  gave  vent  to  that  wild  unreasoning 
passion  which  is  inhaled  into  the  white  man's  lungs  with 
the  air  of  equatorial  Africa.  For  there  are  moral  microbes 
in  the  atmosphere  of  different  countries,  and  we  must  not 
judge  one  land  by  the  laws  of  another.  There  is  the  fatal- 
ism of  India,  the  restlessness  of  New  York,  the  fear  of  the 
Arctic,  the  irritability  of  Africa. 

"  Curse  this  country  !"  he  shouted  ;  "  curse  it — curse  it ! 
River  and  tree — man  and  beast !" 

He  rose  and  slouched  down  to  his  boat,  which  lay  moored 
to  a  snag  alongside  the  bank,  trodden  hard  to  the  consist- 
ency of  asphalt  by  a  hundred  bare  feet.  He  stepped  over 
the  gunwale,  and  made  his  way  aft  with  a  practised  balancing 
step.  The  after-part  of  the  canoe  was  decked  in  and  closed 
with  lock  and  key.  The  key  bung  at  his  watch  -  chain — a 
large  chain  with  square  links  and  a  suggestive  doubtfulness 
of  color.  It  might  have  been  gold,  but  the  man  who  wore 
it  somehow  imparted  to  it  a  suggestion  of  baser  metal. 

He  opened  the  locker  and  took  from  it  a  small  chest. 
From  this  he  selected  a  bottle,  and,  rummaging  in  the  re- 
cesses of  the  locker,  he  found  an  unwashed  tumbler.  Into 
half  a  glass  of  water  he  dropped  a  minute  quantity  from 
the  bottle  and  drank  off  the  mixture.  The  passion  had  left 
him  now,  and  quite  suddenly  he  looked  yellow  and  very 
weak.  He  was  treating  himself  scientifically  for  the  irrita- 
bility to  which  he  had  given  way.  Then  he  returned  to 
the  bank  and  laid  down  at  full  length.  The  skin  of  his 
face  must  have  been  giving  him  great  pain,  for  it  was 
scarlet  in  places  and  exuding  from  sun-blisters.  He  had 
long  ago  given  up  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  brow, 
and  evidently  did  not  dare  to  wash  his  face. 

Presently  a  peacefulness  seemed  to  come  over  him,  for 
his  eyes  lost  their  glitter  and  his  heavy  lids  drooped.  His 
arms  were  crossed  behind  his  head — before  him  lay  the  river, 


UNDER    THE    LINE  39 

Suddenly  lie  sat  upright,  all  eagerness  and  attention. 
Not  a  leaf  stirred.  It  was  about  five  o'clock  in  the  evening, 
the  stillest  hour  of  the  twenty-four.  In  such  a  silence  the 
least  sound  would  travel  almost  any  distance,  and  there  was 
a  sound  travelling  over  the  water  to  him.  It  was  nothing 
but  a  thud  repeated  with  singular  regularity  ;  but  to  his 
practised  ears  it  conveyed  much.  He  knew  that  a  boat  was 
approaching,  as  yet  bidden  by  some  distant  curve  in  the 
river.  The  thud  was  caused  by  the  contact  of  six  paddles 
with  the  gunwale  of  the  canoe  as  the  paddlers  withdrew 
them  from  the  water. 

Victor  Durnovo  rose  again  and  brought  from  the  boat  a 
second  rifle,  which  he  laid  beside  the  double-barrelled  Reilly 
which  was  never  more  than  a  yard  away  from  him,  waking 
or  sleeping.  Then  he  waited.  He  knew  that  no  boat  could 
reach  the  bank  without  his  full  permission,  for  every  rower 
could  be  killed  before  they  got  within  a  hundred  yards  of 
his  rifle.  He  was  probably  the  best  rifle-shot  but  one  in 
that  country — and  the  other,  the  very  best,  happened  to  be 
in  the  approaching  canoe. 

After  the  space  of  ten  minutes  the  boat  came  in  sight — ■ 
a  long  black  form  on  the  still  waters.  It  was  too  far  away 
for  him  to  distinguish  anything  beyond  the  fact  that  it  was 
a  native  boat. 

"  Eight  hundred  yards,"  muttered  Durnovo  over  the  sight 
of  his  rifle. 

He  looked  upon  this  river  as  his  own,  and  he  knew  the 
native  of  equatorial  Africa.  Therefore  he  dropped  a  bullet 
into  the  water,  under  the  bow  of  the  canoe,  at  eight  hun- 
dred yards. 

A  moment  later  there  was  a  sound  which  can  only  be 
written  "P-ttt"  between  his  legs,  and  he  had  to  wipe  a 
shower  of  dust  from  his  eyes.  A  puff  of  blue  smoke  rose 
slowly  over  the  boat  and  a  sharp  report  broke  the  silence  a 
second  time. 

Th&n  Victor  Durnovo  leaped  to  his  feet  and  waved  his  hat 


40  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

in  the  air.  From  the  canoe  there  was  an  answering  greet- 
ing,  and  the  man  on  the  bank  went  to  the  water's  edge, 
still  carrying  the  rifle  from  which  he  was  never  parted. 

Durnovo  was  the  first  to  speak  when  the  boat  came 
within  hail. 

"  Very  sorry,"  he  shouted.  "Thought  you  were  a  native 
boat.  Must  establish  a  funk  —  get  in  the  first  shot,  you 
know." 

"  All  right,"  replied  one  of  the  Europeans  in  the  ap- 
proaching craft,  with  a  courteous  wave  of  the  hand  ;  "no 
harm  done." 

There  were  two  white  men  and  six  blacks  in  the  long 
and  clumsy  boat.  One  of  the  Europeans  lay  in  the  bow 
while  the  other  was  stretched  at  his  ease  in  the  stern,  re- 
clining on  the  canvas  of  a  neatlv-folded  tent.  The  last- 
named  was  evidently  the  leader  of  the  little  expedition, 
while  the  manner  and  attitude  of  the  man  in  the  bow 
suggested  the  servitude  of  a  disciplined  soldier  slightly  re- 
laxed by  abnormal  circumstances. 

"Who  fired  that  shot?"  inquired  Durnovo,  when  there 
was  no  longer  any  necessity  to  shout. 

"Joseph,"  replied  the  man  in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  in- 
dicating his  companion.      "  Was  it  a  near  thing?" 

"  About  as  near  as  I  care  about — it  threw  up  the  dust 
between  my  legs." 

The  man  called  Joseph  grinned.  Nature  had  given  him 
fiberally  of  the  wherewithal  for  indulgence  in  that  relaxa- 
tion, and  Durnovo  smiled  rather  constrainedly.  Joseph  was 
grabbing  at  the  long  reedy  grass,  bringing  the  canoe  to  a 
stand-still,  and  it  was  some  moments  before  his  extensive 
mouth  submitted  to  control. 

"  I  presume  you  are  Mr.  Durnovo  ?"  said  the  man  in  the 
stern  of  the  boat,  rising  leisurely  from  his  recumbent  po- 
sition and  speaking  with  a  courteous  savoir-faire  which 
seemed  slightly  out  of  place  in  the  wilds  of  Central  Africa. 
He  was  a  tall  man  with  a  small  aristocratic  head  and  a  re- 


UNDER    THE    LINE  41 

fined  face,  which  somehow  suggested  an  aristocrat  of  old 
France. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Durnovo. 

The  tall  man  stepped  ashore  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  am  glad  we  have  met  you,"  he  said.  "  I  have  a  letter 
of  introduction  to  you  from  Maurice  Gordon,  of  Loango." 

Victor  Durnovo's  dark  face  changed  slightly  ;  his  eyes — ■ 
bilious,  fever-shot,  unhealthy — took  a  new  light. 

"  Ah  !"  he  answered ;  "  are  you  a  friend  of  Maurice 
Gordon's?" 

There  was  another  question  in  this,  an  unasked  one ;  and 
Victor  Durnovo  was  watching  for  the  answer.  But  the 
face  he  watched  was  like  a  delicately  carved  piece  of  brown 
marble,  with  a  courteous,  impenetrable  smile. 

"  I  met  him  again  the  other  day  at  Loango.  He  is  an 
old  Etonian  like  myself." 

This  conveyed  nothing  to  Durnovo,  who  belonged  to  a 
different  world,  whose  education  was,  like  other  things 
about  him,  an  unknown  quantity. 

"  My  name,"  continued  the  tall  man,  "is  Meredith — John 
Meredith — sometimes  called  Jack." 

They  were  walking  up  the  bank  towards  the  dusky  and 
uninviting  tent. 

"And  the  other  fellow  ?"  inquired  Durnovo,  with  a  back- 
ward jerk  of  the  head. 

"  Oh — he  is  my  servant." 

Durnovo  raised  his  eyebrows  in  somewhat  contemptuous 
amusement,  and  proceeded  to  open  the  letter  which  Mere- 
dith had  handed  him. 

"  Not  many  fellows,"  he  said,  "  on  this  coast  can  afford 
to  keep  a  European  servant." 

Jack  Meredith  bowed  and  ignored  the  irony. 

"But,"  he  said,  courteously,  "I  suppose  you  find  these 
colored  chaps  just  as  good  when  they  have  once  got  into 
your  ways?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  muttered  Durnovo.     He  was  reading  the  let- 


42  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

ter.  "  Maurice  Gordon,"  he  continued,  "  says  you  are  trav- 
elling for  pleasure — just  looking  about  you.  What  do  you 
think  of  it?" 

He  indicated  the  dismal  prospect  with  a  harsh  laugh. 

"  A  bit  suggestive  of  hell,"  he  went  on,  "  eh  ?  How  does 
it  strike  you  ?" 

"  Finer  timber,  I  should  think,"  suggested  Jack  Meredith, 
and  Durnovo  laughed  more  pleasantly. 

"  The  truth  is,"  he  explained,  "  that  it  strikes  one  as  a  bit 
absurd  that  any  man  should  travel  up  here  for  pleasure.  If 
you  take  my  advice  you  will  come  down-stream  again  with 
me  to-morrow." 

He  evidently  distrusted  him  ;  and  the  sidelong,  furtive 
glance  suggested  vaguely  that  Victor  Durnovo  had  some- 
thing farther  up  this  river  which  he  wished  to  keep  con- 
cealed. 

"  I  understand,"  answered  Meredith,  with  a  half-suppressed 
yawn,  "  that  the  country  gets  finer  farther  up — more  moun- 
tainous— less  suggestive  of — hell." 

The  proprietors  of  very  dark  eyes  would  do  well  to  re- 
member that  it  is  dangerous  to  glance  furtively  to  one  side 
or  the  other.  The  attention  of  dark  eyes  is  more  easily 
felt  than  the  glances  of  gray  or  blue  orbs. 

Jack  Meredith's  suspicions  were  aroused  by  the  suspi- 
cious manner  of  his  interlocutor. 

"There  is  no  white  man  knows  this  river  as  I  do,  and  I 
do  not  recommend  it.  Look  at  me  —  on  the  verge  of 
jaundice;  look  at  this  wound  on  my  arm  —  it  began  with 
a  scratch  and  has  never  healed.  All  that  comes  from  a 
month  up  this  cursed  river.  Take  my  advice,  try  some- 
where else." 

"  I  certainly  shall,"  replied  Meredith.  "  We  will  discuss 
it  after  dinner.  My  chap  is  a  first-rate  cook.  Have  you 
got  anything  to  add  to  the  menu  ?" 

"  Not  a  thing.  I've  been  living  on  plantains  and  dried 
elephant-meat  for  the  last  fortnight." 


THE    SECRET    OF    THE    SIMIACINE  43 

"  Doesn't  sound  nourishing.  Well,  we  are  pretty  well 
provided,  so  perhaps  you  will  give  me  the  pleasure  of  your 
company  to  dinner  ?  Come  as  you  are  :  no  ceremony.  I 
think  I  will  wash,  though.  It  is  as  well  to  keep  up  these 
old  customs." 

With  a  pleasant  smile  he  went  towards  the  tent  which 
had  just  been  erected.  Joseph  was  very  busy,  and  his  ad- 
monishing voice  was  heard  at  times. 

"  Here,  Johnny,  hammer  in  that  peg.  Now,  old  Cups- 
and-Saucers,  stop  that  grinning  and  fetch  me  some  water. 
None  of  your  frogs  and  creepy-crawly  things  this  time,  my 
blond  beauty,  but  clean  water: — comprenny  ?" 

With  these  and  similar  lightsome  turns  of  speech  was 
Joseph  in  the  habit  of  keeping  his  men  up  to  the  mark. 
The  method  was  eminently  successful.  His  colored  com- 
peers crowded  round  him  "  all  of  a  grin,"  as  he  himself 
described  it,  and  eager  to  do  his  slightest  behest.  From 
the  throne  to  the  back-kitchen  the  secret  of  success  is  the 
art  of  managing  men — and  women. 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE    SECRET   OF    THE    SIMIACINE 

"  Surtout,  messieurs,  pas  de  z&le." 

Such  was  the  meeting  of  Victor  Durnovo  and  Jack 
Meredith.  Two  men  with  absolutely  nothing  in  common 
—  no  taste,  no  past,  no  kinship  —  nothing  but  the  future. 
Such  men  as  Fate  loves  to  bring  together  for  her  own 
strange  purposes.  What  these  purposes  are  none  of  us  can 
tell.  Some  hold  that  Fate  is  wise.  She  is  not  so  yet,  but 
she  cannot  fail  to  acquire  wisdom  some  day,  because  she 
experiments  so  industriously*     She  is  ever  bringing  about 


44 


WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 


new  combinations,  and  one  can  only  trust  that  she,  the  ex- 
perimenter, is  as  keenly  disappointed  in  the  result  as  are 
we,  the  experimented  upon. 

To  Jack  Meredith  Victor  Durnovo  conveyed  the  impres- 
sion of  little  surprise  and  a  slight  local  interest.  He  was  a 
man  who  was  not  quite  a  gentleman  ;  but  for  himself  Jack 
did  not  give  great  heed  to  this.  He  had  associated  with 
many  such  ;  for,  as  has  been  previously  intimated,  he  had 
moved  in  London  society  where  there  are  many  men  who 
are  not  quite  gentlemen.  The  difference  of  a  good  coat 
and  that  veiled  insolence  which  passes  in  some  circles  for 
the  ease  of  good-breeding  had  no  weight  with  the  keen  son 
of  Sir  John  Meredith,  and  Victor  Durnovo  fared  no  worse 
in  his  companion's  estimation  because  he  wore  a  rough  coat 
and  gave  small  attention  to  his  manners.  He  attracted 
and  held  Jack's  attention  by  a  certain  open-air  manliness 
which  was  in  keeping  with  the  situation  and  with  his  life. 
Sportsmen,  explorers,  and  wanderers  were  not  new  to  Jack ; 
for  nowadays  one  may  never  know  what  manuer  of  man  is 
inside  a  faultless  dress-suit.  It  is  an  age  of  disappearing, 
via  Charing  Cross  station  in  a  first-class  carriage,  to  a  life 
of  backwooding,  living  from  hand  to  mouth,  starving  in 
desert,  prairie,  pampas,  or  arctic  wild,  with,  all  the  while,  a 
big  balance  at  Cox's.  And  most  of  us  come  back  again, 
and  put  on  the  dress-suit  and  the  white  tie  with  a  certain 
sense  of  restfulness  and  comfort. 

Jack  Meredith  had  known  many  such.  He  had,  in  a 
small  way,  done  the  same  himself.  But  he  had  never  met 
one  of  the  men  who  do  not  go  home  —  who  possess  no 
dress-coat  and  no  use  for  it  —  whose  business  it  is  to  go 
about  with  a  rifle  in  one  hand  and  their  life  in  the  other  — 
who  risk  their  lives  because  it  is  their  trade  and  not  their 
pleasure. 

Durnovo  could  not  understand  the  new-comer  at  all.  He 
saw  at  once  that  this  was  one  of  those  British  aristocrats 
who  do  strange  things  in  a  very  strange  way.     In  a  degree 


THE    SECRET    OF    THE    SIMIACINE  45 

Meredith  reminded  him  of  Maurice  Gordon,  the  man  whoso 
letter  of  introduction  was  at  that  moment  serving  to  light 
the  camp  fire.  But  it  was  Maurice  Gordon  without  that 
semi-sensual  weakness  of  purpose  which  made  him  the  boon 
companion  of  Tom,  Dick,  or  Harry,  provided  that  one  of 
those  was  only  with  him  long  enough.  There  was  a  vast 
depth  of  reserve — of  indefinable  possibilities — which  puz- 
zled Durnovo,  and  in  some  subtle  way  inspired  fear. 

In  that  part  of  Africa  which  lies  within  touch  of  the 
equator  life  is  essentially  a  struggle.  There  is  hunger 
about,  and  where  hunger  is  the  emotions  will  be  found  also. 
Now,  Jack  Meredith  was  a  past-master  in  the  concealment 
of  these,  and,  as  such,  came  to  Victor  Durnovo  in  the  guise 
of  a  new  creation.  He  had  lived  the  latter  and  the  larger 
part  of  his  life  among  men  who  said,  in  action  if  not  in 
words,  I  am  hungry,  or  I  am  thirsty ;  I  want  this,  or  I  want 
that;  and  if  yon  are  not  strong  enough  to  keep  it,  I  will 
take  it  from  you. 

This  man  was  different ;  and  Victor  Durnovo  did  not 
know — could  not  find  out — xuhat  he  wanted. 

He  had  at  first  been  inclined  to  lausrh  at  him.  What 
struck  him  most  forcibly  was  Joseph,  the  servant.  The 
idea  of  a  man  swaggering  up  an  African  river  with  a  Euro- 
pean man-servant  was  so  preposterous  that  it  could  only  be 
met  with  ridicule ;  but  the  thing  seemed  so  natural  to  Jack 
Meredith,  he  accepted  the  servitude  of  Joseph  so  much  as  a 
matter  of  course,  that  after  a  time  Durnovo  accepted  him 
also  as  part  and  parcel  of  Meredith. 

Moreover,  he  immediately  began  to  realize  the  benefit  of 
being  waited  upon  by  an  intelligent  European,  for  Joseph 
took  off  his  coat,  turned  up  his  sleeves,  and  proceeded  to 
cook  such  a  dinner  as  Durnovo  had  not  tasted  for  many 
months.  There  was  wine  also,  and  afterwards  a  cigar  of 
such  quality  as  appealed  strongly  to  Durnovo's  West-Indian 
palate. 

The  night  settled  down  over  the  land  while  they  sat  there, 


46  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

and  before  them  the  great  yellow  equatorial  moon  rose 
slowly  over  the  trees.  With  the  darkness  came  a  greater 
silence,  for  the  myriad  insect  life  was  still.  This  great 
silence  of  Central  Africa  is  wonderfully  characteristic.  The 
country  is  made  for  silence,  the  natives  are  created  to  steal, 
spirit-ridden,  devil-haunted,  through  vast  tracts  of  lifeless 
forest  where  Nature  is  oppressive  in  her  grandeur.  Here 
man  is  put  into  his  right  place — a  puny,  insignificant,  help- 
less being  in  a  world  that  is  too  large  for  him. 

"  So,"  said  Durnovo,  returning  to  the  subject  which  had 
never  really  left  his  thoughts,  "you  have  come  out  here  for 
pleasure  ?" 

"  Not  exactly.  I  came  chiefly  to  make  money,  partly  to 
dispel  some  of  the  illusions  of  my  youth,  and  I  am  getting 
on  very  well.  Picture-book  illusions  they  were.  The  man 
who  drew  the  pictures  had  never  seen  Africa." 

"This  is  no  country  for  illusions.  Things  go  naked  here 
-—damned  naked." 

"  And  only  language  is  adorned  ?" 

Durnovo  laughed.  He  had  to  be  alert  to  keep  up  with 
Jack  Meredith — to  understand  his  speech ;  and  he  rather 
liked  the  necessity,  which  was  a  change  after  the  tropic  in- 
dolence in  which  he  had  moved. 

"  Swearing,  you  mean,"  he  replied.  "  Hope  you  don't 
mind  it  ?" 

"  Not  a  bit !     Do  it  myself." 

At  this  moment  Joseph,  the  servant,  brought  coffee  served 
up  in  tin  cups. 

"  First-class  dinner,"  said  Durnovo.  "  The  best  dinner  I 
have  had  for  years.     Clever  chap,  your  man  !" 

The  last  remark  was  made  as  much  for  the  servant's 
edification  as  for  the  master's,  and  it  was  accompanied  by 
an  inviting  smile  directed  towards  Joseph.  Of  this  the 
man  took  no  notice  whatever.  He  came  from  a  world 
where  masters  and  masters'  guests  knew  their  place  and 
kept  it,  even  after  a  good  dinner. 


THE    SECRET    OF    THE    SIMIACINE  47 

The  evening  had  turned  out  so  very  differently  from  what 
he  had  expected  that  Durnovo  was  a  little  carried  off  his 
equilibrium.  Things  were  so  sociable  and  pleasant  in  com- 
parison with  the  habitual  loneliness  of  his  life.  The  fire 
crackled  so  cheerily,  the  moon  shone  down  on  the  river  so 
grandly,  the  subdued  chatter  of  the  boatmen  imparted  such 
a  feeling  of  safety  and  comfort  to  the  scene,  that  he  gave 
way  to  that  impulse  of  expansiveness  which  ever  lurks  in 
West-Indian  blood. 

"  I  say,"  he  said,  "  when  you  told  me  that  you  wanted  to 
make  money,  were  you  in  earnest  ?" 

"  In  the  deadliest  earnest,"  replied  Jack  Meredith,  in  the 
half-mocking  tone  which  he  never  wholly  learned  to  lay 
aside. 

"  Then  I  think  I  can  put  you  in  the  way  of  it.  Ob,  I 
know  it  seems  a  bit  premature — not  known  you  long  enough, 
and  all  that.  But  in  this  country  we  don't  hold  much  by 
the  formalities.  I  like  you.  I  liked  the  look  of  you  when 
you  got  out  of  that  boat — so  damned  cool  and  self-possessed. 
You're  the  right  sort,  Mr.  Meredith." 

"Possibly  —  for  some  things.  For  sitting  about  and 
smoking  first-class  cigars  and  thinking  second-class  thoughts 
I  am  exactly  the  right  sort.  But  for  making  money,  for 
hard  work  and  steady  work,  I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Durnovo,  that 
I  am  distinctly  the  wrong  sort." 

"Now  you're  chaffing  again.     Do  you  always  chaff?" 

"  MoBtly ;  it  lubricates  things,  doesn't  it  ?" 

There  was  a  little  pause.  Durnovo  looked  round  as  if 
to  make  sure  that  Joseph  and  the  boatmen  were  out  of 
ear-shot. 

"  Can  you  keep  a  secret  ?"  he  asked,  suddenly. 

Jack  Meredith  turned  and  looked  at  the  questioner  with 
a  smile.  His  hat  had  slipped  to  the  back  of  his  head,  the 
light  of  the  great  yellow  moon  fell  full  upon  his  clean-cut 
sphinx-like  face.     The  eyes  alone  seemed  Jiving. 

"  Yes !     I  can  do  that." 


48  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

He  was  only  amused,  and  the  words  were  spoken  half- 
mockingly ;  but  his  face  said  more  than  his  lips.  It  said 
that  even  in  chaff  this  was  no  vain  boast  that  he  was  utter- 
ing. Even  before  he  had  set  foot  on  African  soil  he  had 
been  asked  to  keep  so  many  secrets  of  a  commercial  nature. 
So  many  had  begun  by  imparting  half  a  secret,  to  pass  on 
in  due  course  to  the  statement  that  only  money  was  re- 
quired— say,  a  thousand  pounds.  And,  in  the  meantime, 
twenty-five  would  be  very  useful,  and,  if  not  that — well,  ten 
shillings.     Jack  Meredith  had  met  all  that  before. 

But  there  was  something  different  about  Durnovo.  He 
was  not  suitably  got  up.  Your  bar-room  prospective  mill- 
ionaire is  usually  a  jolly  fellow,  quite  prepared  to  quench 
any  man's  thirst  for  liquor  or  information  so  long  as  credit 
and  credulity  will  last.  There  was  nothing  jolly  or  san- 
guine about  Durnovo.  Beneath  his  broad-brimmed  hat 
his  dark  eyes  flashed  in  a  fierce  excitement.  His  hand  was 
unsteady.  He  had  allowed  the  excellent  cigar  to  go  out. 
The  man  was  full  of  quinine  and  fever,  in  deadly  earnest. 

"  I  can  see  you're  a  gentleman,"  he  said ;  "  I'll  trust  you. 
I  want  a  man  to  join  me  in  making  a  fortune.  I  have  got 
my  hand  on  it  at  last.  But  I'm  afraid  of  this  country. 
I'm  getting  shaky :  look  at  that  hand.  I've  been  looking 
for  it  too  long.  I  take  you  into  my  confidence,  the  first- 
comer,  you'll  think.  But  there  are  not  many  men  like  you 
in  this  country,  and  I'm  beastly  afraid  of  dying.  I'm  in  a 
damned  funk.  I  want  to  get  out  of  this  for  a  bit,  but  I 
dare  not  leave  until  I  set  things  going." 

"  Take  your  time,"  said  Meredith,  quietly  and  soothingly ; 
"  light  that  cigar  again  and  lie  down.     There  is  no  hurry." 

Durnovo  obeyed  him  meekly. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  "  have  yon  ever  heard  of  Simiacine  ?" 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  have,"  replied  Jack.  "  What  is  it 
for,  brown  boots  or  spasms." 

"  It  is  a  drug,  the  most  expensive  drug  in  the  market. 
And  they  must  have  it,  they  cannot  do  without  it,  and  they 


THE    SECRET    OF    THE    SIMIACINE  49 

cannot  find  a  substitute.  It  is  the  leaf  of  a  shrub,  and 
your  hatful  is  worth  a  thousand  pounds." 

"Where  is  it  to  be  found?"  asked  Jack  Meredith.  "I 
should  like  some — in  a  sack." 

"  Ah,  you  may  laugh  now,  but  you  won't  when  you  hear 
all  about  it.  The  scientific  chaps  called  it  Siraiacine,  be- 
cause of  an  old  African  legend  which,  like  all  those  things, 
has  a  grain  of  truth  in  it.  The  legend  is,  that  the  monkeys 
first  found  out  the  properties  of  the  leaf,  and  it  is  because 
they  live  on  it  that  they  are  so  strong.  Do  you  know  that 
a  gorilla's  arm  is  not  half  so  thick  as  yours,  and  yet  he 
would  take  you  and  snap  your  backbone  across  his  knee; 
he  would  bend  a  gun-barrel  as  you  would  bend  a  cane, 
merely  by  the  turn  of  his  wrist  ?  That  is  Simiacine.  He 
can  hang  on  to  a  tree  with  one  leg  and  tackle  a  leopard  with 
his  bare  hands — that's  Simiacine.  At  home,  in  England 
and  in  Germany,  they  are  only  just  beginning  to  find  out 
its  properties ;  it  seems  that  it  can  bring  a  man  back  to  life 
when  he  is  more  than  half  dead.  There  is  no  knowing  what 
children  that  are  brought  up  on  it  may  turn  out  to  be;  it  may 
double  the  power  of  the  human  brain — some  think  it  will." 

Jack  Meredith  was  leaning  forward,  watching  with  h 
certain  sense  of  fascination  the  wild,  disease-stricken  face, 
listening  to  the  man's  breathless  periods.  It  seemed  that 
the  fear  of  death,  which  had  gotten  hold  of  him,  gave  Vic- 
tor Durnovo  no  time  to  pause  for  breath. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Englishman — "  yes,  go  on." 

"  There  is  practically  no  limit  to  the  demand  that  there 
is  for  it.  At  present  the  only  way  of  obtaining  it  is 
through  the  natives,  and  you  know  their  manner  of  trading. 
They  send  a  little  packet  down  from  the  interior,  and  it 
very  often  takes  two  months  and  more  to  reach  the  buyer's 
hands.  The  money  is  sent  back  the  same  way,  and  each 
man  who  fingers  it  keeps  a  little.  The  natives  find  the  leaf 
in  the  forests  by  the  aid  of  trained  monkeys,  and  only  in 
very  small  quantities.     Do  you  follow  me?" 


50  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  Yes,  I  follow  you." 

Victor  Durnovo  leaned  forward  until  his  face  was  within 
three  inches  of  Meredith's,  and  the  dark,  wild  eyes  flashed 
and  glared  into  the  Englishman's  steady  glance. 

"  What,"  he  hissed — "  what  if  I  know  where  Simiacine 
grows  like  a  weed?  What  if  I  could  supply  the  world  with 
Simiacine  at  my  own  price?  Eh — h — h!  What  of  that, 
Mr.  Meredith  ?" 

He  threw  himself  suddenly  back  and  wiped  his  dripping 
face.  There  was  a  silence,  the  great  African  silence  that 
drives  educated  men  mad  and  fills  the  imagination  of  the 
poor  heathen  with  wild  tales  of  devils  and  spirits. 

Then  Jack  Meredith  spoke,  without  moving. 

"I'm  your  man,"  he  said,  "  with  a  few  more  details." 

Victor  Durnovo  was  lying  back  at  full  length  on  the 
hard,  dry  mud,  his  arms  beneath  his  head.  Without  alter- 
ing his  position,  be  gave  the  details,  speaking  slowly  and 
much  more  quietly.  It  seemed  as  if  he  spoke  the  result 
of  long-pent-up  thought. 

"  We  shall  want,"  he  said,  "  two  thousand  pounds  to 
start  it.  For  we  must  have  an  armed  force  of  our  own. 
W7e  have  to  penetrate  through  a  cannibal  country  of  the 
fiercest  devils  in  Africa.  It  is  a  plateau,  a  little  plateau  of 
two  square  miles,  and  the  niggers  think  that  it  is  haunted 
by  an  evil  spirit.  When  we  get  there  we  shall  have  to  hold 
it  by  force  of  arras,  and  when  we  send  the  stuff  down  to  the 
coast  we  must  have  an  escort  of  picked  men.  The  bushes 
grow  up  there  as  thick  as  gooseberry-bushes  in  a  garden  at 
home.  WTith  a  little  cultivation  they  will  yield  twice  as  much 
as  they  do  now.  We  shall  want  another  partner.  I  know 
a  man,  a  soldierly  fellow,  full  of  fight,  who  knows  the  na- 
tives and  the  country.  I  will  undertake  to  lead  you  there, 
but  you  will  have  to  take  great  care  of  me.  You  will  have 
to  have  me  carried  most  of  the  way.  I  am  weak,  devilish 
weak,  and  I  am  afraid  of  dying ;  but  I  know  the  way  there, 
and  no  other  man  can  say  as  much  I     It  is  in  my  head  here ; 


A    RECRUIT  51 

it  is  not  written  down.     It  is  only  in  ray  head,  and  no  one 
can  get  it  out  of  there." 

"  No,"  said  Meredith,  in  his  quiet,  refined  voice — "  no,  no 
one  can  get  it  out.  Come,  let  us  turn  in.  To-morrow  I  will 
go  down  the  river  with  you.  I  will  turn  back,  and  we  can 
talk  it  over  as  we  go  down-stream." 


CHAPTER   VIII 

A    RECRUIT 

"Said  the  Engine  from  the  East, 
'They  who  work  best  talk  the  least. 


j  >» 


It  is  not,  of  course,  for  a  poor  limited  masculine  mind 
to  utter  heresies  regarding  the  great  question  of  woman's 
rights.  But  as  things  stand  at  present,  as  in  fact  the  fore- 
named  rights  are  to-day  situated,  women  have  not  found 
comprehension  of  the  dual  life.  The  dual  life  is  led  solely 
by  men,  and  until  women  have  found  out  its  full  compass 
and  meaning,  they  can  never  lead  in  the  world.  There  is 
the  public  life  and  the  private ;  and  the  men  who  are  most 
successful  in  the  former  are  the  most  exclusive  in  the  latter. 
Women  have  only  learned  to  lead  one  life;  they  must  be 
all  public  or  all  private ;  there  is  no  medium.  Those  who 
give  up  the  private  life  for  which  Providence  destined  them 
to  assume  the  public  existence  to  which  their  own  conceit 
urges  them  have  their  own  reward.  They  taste  all  the  bit- 
terness of  fame,  and  never  know  its  sweets,  because  the  bit- 
terness is  public  and  the  sweets  are  private. 

Women  cannot  understand  that  part  of  a  man's  life  which 
brings  him  into  daily  contact  with  men  whom  he  does  not 
bring  home  to  dinner.  One  woman  does  not  know  another 
without  bringing  her  in  to  meals  and  showing  her  her  new 


52  WlTfi   EDGED   TOOLS 

hat.  It  is  merely  a  matter  of  custom.  Men  are  in  the  habit 
of  associating  in  daily,  almost  hourly,  intercourse  with  oth- 
ers who  are  never  really  their  friends,  and  are  always  held 
at  a  distance.  It  is  useless  attempting  to  explain  it,  for  we 
are  merely  reprimanded  for  unfriendliness,  stiffness,  and  stu- 
pid pride.  Soit!  Let  it  go.  Some  of  us,  perhaps,  know 
our  own  business  best.  And  there  are,  thank  Heaven ! 
amidst  a  multitude  of  female  doctors,  female  professors, 
female  wranglers,  a  few  female  women  left. 

Jack  Meredith  knew  quite  well  what  he  was  about  when 
he  listened  with  a  favorable  ear  to  Durnovo's  scheme.  He 
knew  that  this  man  was  not  a  gentleman,  but  his  own  posi- 
tion was  so  assured  that  he  could  afford  to  associate  with 
any  one.  Here,  again,  men  are  safer.  A  woman  is  too 
delicate  a  social  flower  to  be  independent  of  environments. 
She  takes  the  tone  of  her  surroundings.  It  is,  one  notices, 
only  the  ladies  who  protest  that  the  barmaid  married  in 
haste  and,  repented  of  at  leisure,  can  raise  herself  to  her 
husband's  level.  The  husband's  friends  keep  silence,  and 
perhaps,  like  the  mariner's  bird,  they  meditate  all  the 
more. 

What  Meredith  proposed  to  do  was  to  enter  into  a  part- 
nership with  Victor  Durnovo,  and,  when  the  purpose  of  it 
was  accomplished,  to  let  each  man  go  his  way.  Such  part- 
nerships are  entered  into  every  day.  Men  have  carried 
through  a  brilliant  campaign — a  world-affecting  scheme — 
side  by  side,  working  with  one  mind  and  one  heart ;  and 
when  the  result  has  been  attained  they  drop  out  of  each  oth- 
er's lives  forever.  They  are  created  so — for  a  very  good  pur- 
pose, no  doubt.  But  sometimes  Providence  steps  in  and 
turns  the  little  point  of  contact  into  the  leaven  that  leaven- 
eth  the  whole  lump.  Providence,  it  seems — or  let  us  call 
it  Fate — was  hovering  over  that  lone  African  river,  where 
two  men,  sitting  in  the  stern  of  a  native  canoe,  took  it 
upon  themselves  to  prearrange  their  lives. 

A  montb  later  Yiet-or  Durnovo  was  in  London.     He  left 


A   KECRUIT  53 

behind  him  in  Africa  Jack  Meredith,  whose  capacities  for 
organization  were  developing  very  quickly. 

There  was  plenty  of  work  for  each  to  do.  In  Africa 
Meredith  had  undertaken  to  get  together  men  and  boats, 
while  Durnovo  went  home  to  Europe  for  a  threefold  pur- 
pose. Firstly,  a  visit  to  Europe  was  absolutely  necessary 
for  his  health,  shattered  as  it  was  by  too  long  a  sojourn  in 
the  fever-ridden  river-beds  of  the  West  Coast.  Secondly, 
there  were  rifles,  ammunition,  and  stores  to  be  purchased, 
and  packed  in  suitable  cases.  And,  lastly,  he  was  to  find 
and  enlist  the  third  man,  "the  soldierly  fellow,  full  of  fight," 
who  knew  the  natives  and  the  country. 

This,  indeed,  was  his  first  care  on  reaching  London,  and 
before  his  eyes  and  brain  were  accustomed  to  the  roar  of  the 
street  life  he  took  a  cab  to  Russell  Square,  giving  the  num- 
ber affixed  to  the  door  of  a  gloomy  house  in  the  least-fre- 
quented corner  of  the  stately  quadrangle. 

"  Is  Mr.  Guy  Oscard  at  home  ?"  he  inquired  of  the  grave 
man-servant. 

"  He  is,  sir,"  replied  the  butler,  stepping  aside. 

Victor  Durnovo  thought  that  a  momentary  hesitation  on 
the  part  of  the  butler  was  caused  by  a  very  natural  and 
proper  feeling  of  admiration  for  the  new  clothes  and  hat 
which  he  had  purchased  out  of  the  money  advanced  by  Jack 
Meredith  for  the  outfit  of  the  expedition.  In  reality  the 
man  was  waiting  for  the  visitor  to  throw  away  his  cigar  be- 
fore crossing  the  threshold.  But  he  waited  in  vain,  and 
Durnovo  waited,  cigar  in  mouth,  in  the  dining-room  until 
Guy  Oscard  came  to  him. 

At  first  Oscard  did  not  recognize  him,  and  conveyed  this 
fact  by  a  distant  bow  and  an  expectant  silence. 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  recognize  me,"  said  Durnovo,  with 
a  laugh  which  lasted  until  the  servant  had  closed  the  door. 
"  Victor  Durnovo !" 

"  Oh — yes — how  are  you  ?" 

Oscard  came  forward  and  shook  hands.    His  manner  was 


54  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

not  exactly  effusive.  The  truth  was  that  their  acquaintance- 
ship in  Africa  had  been  of  the  slightest,  dating  from  some 
trivial  services  which  Durnovo  had  been  able  and  very  eager 
to  render  to  the  sportsman. 

"  I'm  all  right,  thanks,"  replied  Durnovo.  "  I  only  landed 
at  Liverpool  yesterday.  I'm  home  on  business.  I'm  buy- 
ing rifles  and  stores." 

Guy  Oscard's  honest  face  lighted  up  at  once  —  the  curse 
of  Ishmael  was  on  him  in  its  full  force.  He  was  destined 
to  be  a  wanderer  on  God's  earth,  and  all  things  appertain- 
ing to  the  wild  life  of  the  forests  were  music  in  his  ears. 

Durnovo  was  no  mean  diplomatist.  He  had  learned  to 
know  man,  within  a  white  or  colored  skin.  The  effect  of 
his  words  was  patent  to  him. 

"  You  remember  the  Simiacine  ?"  he  said,  abruptly. 

"Yes." 

"  I've  found  it." 

"  The  devil  you  have !     Sit  down." 

Durnovo  took  the  chair  indicated. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  said,  "  I've  got  it.  I've  laid  my  hand  on 
it  at  last.  I've  always  been  on  its  track.  That  has  been 
my  little  game  all  the  time.  I  did  not  tell  you  when  we 
met  out  there,  because  I  was  afraid  I  should  never  find  it, 
and  because  I  wanted  to  keep  quiet  about  it." 

Guy  Oscard  was  looking  out  of  the  window  across  to  the 
dull  houses  and  chimneys  that  formed  his  horizon,  and  in 
his  eyes  there  was  the  longing  for  a  vaster  horizon,  a  larger 
life. 

"  I  have  got  a  partner,"  continued  Durnovo,  "  a  good  man 
— Jack  Meredith,  son  of  Sir  John  Meredith.  You  have, 
perhaps,  met  him." 

"No,"  answered  Oscard;  "but  I  have  heard  his  name, 
and  I  have  met  Sir  John — the  father — once  or  twice." 

"He  is  out  there,"  went  on  Durnovo,  "  getting  things  to- 
gether quietly.  I  have  come  home  to  buy  rifles,  ammuni* 
tion,  and  stores," 


A   RECRUIT  55 

He  paused,  watching  the  eager,  simple  face. 

"  We  want  to  know,"  he  said,  quietly,  "if  you  will  organ- 
ize and  lead  the  fighting  men." 

Guy  Oscard  drew  a  deep  breath.  There  are  some  Eng- 
lishmen left,  thank  Heaven !  who  love  fighting  for  its  own 
sake,  and  not  only  for  the  gain  of  it.  Such  men  as  this 
lived  in  the  old  days  of  chivalry,  at  which  modern  puny 
carpet-knights  make  bold  to  laugh,  while  inwardly  thanking 
their  stars  that  they  live  in  the  peaceful  age  of  the  police- 
man. Such  men  as  this  ran  their  thick  simple  heads  against 
many  a  windmill,  couched  lance  over  many  a  fat'-fetched  in- 
sult, and  swung  a  sword  in  honor  of  many  a  worthless  maid  ; 
but  they  made  England,  my  masters.  Let  us  remember  that 
they  made  England. 

"  Then  there  is  to  be  fighting  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Durnovo,  "there  will  be  fighting.  We 
must  fight  our  way  there,  and  we  must  hold  it  when  we 
get  there.  But  so  far  as  the  world  is  concerned,  we  are 
only  a  private  expedition  exploring  the  source  of  the 
Ogowe." 

"  The  Ogowe  ?"  and  again  Guy  Oscard's  eyes  lighted  up. 

"Yes,  I  do  not  mind  telling  you  that  much.  To  begin 
with,  I  trust  you ;  secondly,  no  one  could  get  there  without 
me  to  lead  the  way." 

Guy  Oscard  looked  at  him  with  some  admiration,  and 
that  sympathy  which  exists  between  the  sons  of  Ishmael. 
Durnovo  looked  quite  fit  for  the  task  he  set  himself.  He 
had  regained  his  strength  on  the  voyage,  and  with  return- 
ing muscular  force  his  moral  tone  was  higher,  his  influence 
over  men  greater.  Amid  the  pallid  sons  of  the  pavement, 
among  whom  Guy  Oscard  had  moved  of  late,  this  African 
traveller  was  a  man  apart — a  being  much  more  after  his 
own  heart.  The  brown  of  the  man's  face  and  hands  ap- 
pealed to  him — the  dark  flashing  eyes,  the  energetic  car- 
riage of  the  head  and  shoulders.  Among  men  of  a  fairer 
skin  the  taint  that  was  in  Victor  Durnovo's  blood  became 


56  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

more  apparent — the  shadow  on  his  finger-nails,  the  deep 
olive  of  his  neck  against  the  snowy  collar,  and  the  blue  tint 
in  the  whites  of  his  eyes. 

But  none  of  these  things  militated  against  him  in  Os- 
card's  eyes.  They  only  made  him  fitter  for  the  work  he 
had  undertaken. 

"  How  long  will  it  take  ?"  asked  Guy. 

Durnovo  tugged  at  his  strange,  curtain-like  mustache. 
His  mouth  was  hidden;  it  was  quite  impossible  to  divine 
his  thoughts. 

"  Three  months  to  get  there,"  he  answered  at  length. 
"One  month  to  pick  the  leaf,  and  then  you  can  bring  the 
first  crop  down  to  the  coast  and  home,  while  Meredith  and 
I  stay  on  at  the  plateau." 

"I  could  be  home  again  in  eight  months?" 

"  Certainly  !  We  thought  that  you  might  work  the  sale 
of  the  stuff  in  London,  and  in  a  couple  of  years  or  so,  when 
the  thing  is  in  swing,  Meredith  will  come  home.  We  can 
safely  leave  the  cultivation  in  native  hands  when  once  we 
have  established  ourselves  up  there,  and  made  ourselves  re 
spected  among  the  tribes." 

A  significance  in  his  tone  made  Guy  Oscard  look  up  in- 
quiringly. 

"  How  ?" 

"You  know  my  way  with  the  natives,"  answered  Dur- 
novo, with  a  cruel  smile.  "  It  is  the  only  way.  There  are 
no  laws  in  Central  Africa  except  the  laws  of  necessity." 

Oscard  was  nothing  if  not  outspoken. 

"I  do  not  like  your  way  with  the  natives,"  he  said,  with 
a  pleasant  smile. 

"  That  is  because  you  do  not  know  them.  But  in  this 
affair  you  are  to  be  the  leader  of  the  fighting  column. 
You  will,  of  course,  have  carte  blanche." 

Oscard  nodded. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "  that  there  is  the 
question  of  money  ?" 


A    RECRUIT  57 

"  Yes ;  Meredith  and  I  have  talked  that  over.  The  plan 
we  fixed  upon  was  that  you  and  he  each  put  a  thousand 
pounds  into  it;  I  put  five  hundred.  For  the  first  two 
years  we  share  the  profits  equally.  After  that  we  must 
come  to  some  fresh  arrangemeut,  should  you  or  Meredith 
wish  to  give  up  an  active  part  in  the  affair.  I  presume 
you  would  not  ohject  to  coming  up  at  the  end  of  the  year, 
with  a  handy  squad  of  men  to  bring  down  the  crop  under 
escort  ?" 

"No,"  replied  Oscard,  after  a  moment's  reflection.  "I 
should  probably  be  able  to  do  that." 

"  I  reckon,"  continued  the  other,  "  that  the  journey  down 
could  be  accomplished  in  two  months,  and  each  time  you 
do  the  trip  you  will  reduce  your  time." 

"Yes." 

"  Of  course,"  Durnovo  went  on,  with  the  details  which 
he  knew  were  music  in  Oscard's  ears — "  of  course  we  shall 
be  a  clumsy  party  going  up.  We  shall  have  heavy  loads 
of  provisions,  ammunition,  and  seeds  for  cultivating  the 
land  up  there." 

"Yes,"  replied  Guy  Oscard,  absently.  In  his  ears  there 
rang  already  the  steady  plash  of  the  paddle,  the  weird  mel- 
ancholy song  of  the  boatmen,  the  music  of  the  wind  amid 
the  forest  trees. 

Durnovo  rose  briskly. 

"  Then,"  he  said,  "  you  will  join  us  ?  I  may  telegraph 
out  to  Meredith  that  you  will  join  us?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Oscard,  simply.     "  You  may  do  that." 

"There  is  no  time  to  be  lost,"  Durnovo  went  on. 
"  Every  moment  wasted  adds  to  the  risk  of  our  being  su- 
perseded. I  sail  for  Loango  in  a  fortnight;  will  you  come 
with  me?" 

"Yes." 

"Shall  I  take  a  passage  for  you?" 

"  Yes." 

Durnovo  held  out  his  hand. 


58  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  Good-bye,"  he  said.  "  Shall  I  always  find  you  here 
when  I  want  you  ?" 

"  Yes — stay,  though  !  I  shall  be  going  away  for  a  few 
days.  Come  to-morrow  to  luncheon,  and  we  will  settle 
the  preliminaries." 

"  Right— one  o'clock  ?" 

"  One  o'clock." 

When  Durnovo  had  gone  Guy  sat  down  and  wrote  to 
Lady  Cantourne  accepting  her  invitation  to  spend  a  few 
days  at  Cantourne  Place,  on  the  Solent.  He  explained  that 
his  visit  would  be  in  the  nature  of  a  farewell,  as  he  was 
about  to  leave  for  Africa  for  a  little  big-game  hunting. 


CHAPTER  IX 

TO    PASS    THE    TIME 
"  Quand  on  n'a  pas  ce  que  l'on  airne,  il  faut  aimer  ce  que  Ton  a." 

"Your  energy,  my  dear  lady,  is  not  the  least  of  many 
attributes." 

Lady  Cantourne  looked  up  from  her  writing-desk  with 
her  brightest  smile.  Sir  John  Meredith  was  standing  by 
the  open  window,  leaning  against  the  jamb  thereof  with  a 
grace  that  had  lost  its  youthful  repose.  He  was  looking 
out,  across  a  sloping  lawn,  over  the  Solent,  and  for  that 
purpose  he  had  caused  himself  to  be  clad  in  a  suit  of  blue 
serge.  He  looked  the  veteran  yachtsman  to  perfection — he 
could  look  anything  in  its  season  ;  but  he  did  his  yachting 
from  the  shore  —  by  preference  from  the  drawing-room 
window. 

"One  must  keep  up  with  the  times,  John,"  replied  the 
lady,  daintily  dipping  her  quill. 

"And  '  the  times'  fills  its  house  from  roof  to  cellar  with 


TO    PASS    THE    TIME  59 

people  who  behave  as  if  they  were  in  a  hotel.  Some  of 
them — say  number  five  on  the  first  floor,  number  eleven  on 
the  second,  or  some  of  the  atticated  relatives — announce  at 
breakfast  that  they  will  not  be  home  to  lunch.  Another 
says  he  cannot  possibly  be  home  to  dinner  at  half -past 
seven,  and  so  on.  'The  times'  expects  a  great  deal  for  its 
money,  and  does  not  even  allow  one  to  keep  the  small 
change  of  civility." 

Lady  Cantonrne  was  blotting  vigorously. 

"  I  admit,"  she  answered,  "  that  the  reaction  is  rather 
strong;  reactions  are  always  stronger  than  they  intend  to 
be.  In  our  early  days  the  formalities  were  made  too  much 
of ;  now  they  are™" 

"  Made  into  a  social  hash,"  he  suggested,  when  she  paused 
for  a  word,  "  where  the  prevailing  flavor  is  the  commoC 
onion  of  commerce!  Now,  I'll  wager  any  sum  that  that  is 
an  invitation  to  some  one  you  do  not  care  a  screw  about." 

"  It  is.  But,  Sir  John,  the  hash  must  be  kept  moving ; 
cold  hash  is  not  palatable.  I  will  tell  you  at  once;  I  am  in- 
viting young  Semoor  to  fill  the  vacancy  caused  by  Mr.  Os- 
card's  departure." 

"  Ah !  Mr.  Oscard  proposes  depriving  us  of  his  —  so- 
ciety." 

"  He  leaves  to  -  morrow.  He  only  came  to  say  good- 
bye." 

"  He  moves  on — to  some  other  hostlery  2" 

"  No  !     He  is  going  to-—" 

She  paused,  so  that  Sir  John  was  forced  to  turn  in  cour- 
teous inquiry  and  look  her  in  the  face. 

"  Africa !"  she  added,  sharply,  never  taking  her  bright 
eyes  from  his  face. 

She  saw  the  twitching  of  the  aged  lips  before  his  hand 
got  there  to  hide  them.  She  saw  his  eyes  fall  before  her 
steady  gaze,  and  she  pitied  him  while  she  admired  his  un- 
compromising pride. 

u  Indeed  1"  he  said.   "  I  have  reason  to  believe,"  he  added, 


60  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

turning  to  the  window  again,  "  that  there  is  a  great  future 
before  that  country  ;  all  the  intellect  of  Great  Britain  seems 
to  be  converging  in  its  direction." 

Since  his  departure  Jack's  name  had  never  been  men- 
tioned, even  between  these  two  whose  friendship  dated  back 
a  generation.  Once  or  twice  Sir  John  had  made  a  subtle 
passing  reference  to  him,  such  as  perhaps  no  other  woman 
but  Lady  Cantourne  could  have  understood;  but  Africa 
was,  so  to  speak,  blotted  out  of  Sir  John  Meredith's  map  of 
the  world.  It  was  there  that  he  kept  his  skeleton — the  son 
who  had  been  his  greatest  pride  and  his  deepest  humilia- 
tion— his  highest  hope  in  life — almost  the  only  failure  of 
his  career. 

He  stood  there  by  the  window,  looking  out  with  that 
well-bred  interest  in  details  of  sport  and  pastime  which  was 
part  of  his  creed.  He  braved  it  out  even  before  the  woman 
who  had  been  a  better  friend  to  him  than  his  dead  wife. 
Not  even  to  her  would  be  confess  that  any  event  of  exist- 
ence could  reach  him  through  the  impenetrable  mask  he 
wore  before  the  world.  Not  even  she  must  know  that 
aught  in  his  life  could  breathe  of  failure  or  disappointment. 
As  it  is  given  to  the  best  of  women  to  want  to  take  their 
sorrows  to  another,  so  the  strongest  men  instinctively  deny 
their  desire  for  sympathy. 

Lady  Cantourne,  pretending  to  select  another  sheet  of 
note-paper,  glanced  at  him  with  a  pathetic  little  smile.  Al- 
though they  had  never  been  anything  to  each  other,  these 
two  people  had  passed  through  many  of  the  trials  to  which 
humanity  is  heir  almost  side  by  side.  But  neither  had  ever 
broken  down.  Each  acted  as  a  sort  of  mental  tonic  on  the 
Dther.  They  had  tacitly  agreed,  years  before,  to  laugh  at 
most  things.  She  saw,  more  distinctly  than  any,  the  singu- 
lar emptiness  of  his  clothes,  as  if  the  man  were  shrinking, 
and  she  knew  that  the  emptiness  was  of  the  heart. 

Sir  John  Meredith  had  taught  his  son  that  Self,  and  Self 
alone,  reigps  in  the  world.    He  had  taught  him  that  the 


TO    PASS    THK    TIME  61 

thing  called  Love,  with  a  capital  L,  is  nearly  all  self,  and 
that  it  finally  dies  in  the  arras  of  Self.  He  had  told  hira 
that  a  father's  love,  or  a  son's,  or  a  mother's,  is  merely  a 
matter  of  convenience,  and  vanishes  when  Self  asserts  itself. 

Upon  this  principle  they  were  both  acting  now,  with  a 
strikintdv  suggestive  similaritv  of  method.  Neither  was 
willing  to  admit  to  the  world  in  general,  and  to  the  other 
in  particular,  that  a  cynical  theory  could  possibly  be  erro- 
neous. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  our  young  friend  is  going  to  leave  us," 
said  Sir  John,  taking  up  and  unfolding  the  morning  paper. 
"  He  is  honest  and  candid,  if  he  is  nothing  else." 

This  meant  that  Guy  Oscard's  admiration  for  Millicent 
Chyne  had  never  been  concealed  for  a  moment,  and  Lady 
Cantourne  knew  it. 

"  He  interests  me,"  went  on  the  old  aristocrat,  studying 
the  newspaper;  and  his  hearer  knew  the  inner  significance 
of  the  remark. 

At  times  she  was  secretly  ashamed  of  her  niece,  but  that 
esprit  de  corps  which  binds  women  together  prompted  her 
always  to  defend  Millicent.  The  only  defence  at  the  mo- 
ment was  silence,  and  an  assumed  density  which  did  not 
deceive  Sir  John — even  she  could  not  do  that. 

In  the  meantime  Miss  Millicent  Chyne  was  walking  on 
the  sea-wall  at  the  end  of  the  garden  with  Guy  Oscard. 
One  of  the  necessary  acquirements  of  a  modern  educational 
outfit  is  the  power  of  looking  perfectly  at  home  in  a  score 
of  different  costumes  during  the  year,  and,  needless  to  say, 
Miss  Chyne  was  perfectly  finished  in  this  art.  The  manner 
in  which  she  wore  her  sailor-hat,  her  blue  serge,  and  her  neat 
brown  shoes  conveyed  to  the  onlooker,  and  especially  the 
male  of  that  species  (we  cannot  in  conscience  call  them  ob- 
servers), the  impression  that  she  was  a  yachtswoman  born 
and  bred.  Her  delicate  complexion  was  enhanced  by  the 
faintest  suspicion  of  sunburn  and  a  few  exceedingly  becom- 
ing freckles.    There  was  a  freedom  in  her  movements  which 


62  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Lad  not  been  observed  in  London  drawing-rooms.  This  was 
Diana-like  and  in  perfect  keeping  with  the  dainty  sailor  out- 
fit ;  moreover,  nine  men  out  of  ten  would  fail  to  attribute 
the  difference  to  sundry  cunning  strings  within  the  (Lon- 
don) skirt. 

"  It  is  sad,"  Millicent  was  saying,  "  to  think  that  we  shall 
have  no  more  chances  of  sailing.  The  wind  has  quite 
dropped,  that  horrid  tide  is  running,  and  —  this  is  your  last 
day." 

She  ended  with  a  little  laugh,  knowing  full  well  that  there 
was  little  sentiment  in  the  big  man  by  her  side. 

"Really,"  she  went  on,  "  I  think  I  should  be  able  to  man- 
age a  boat  in  time,  don't  you  think  so  ?  Please  encourage 
me.     I  am  sure  I  have  tried  to  learn." 

But  he  remained  persistently  grave.  She  did  not  like 
that  gravity ;  she  had  met  it  before  in  the  course  of  her  ex- 
periments. One  of  the  grievances  harbored  by  Miss  Milli- 
cent Chyne  against  the  opposite  sex  was  that  they  could 
not  settle  down  into  a  harmless,  honest  flirtation.  Of  course, 
this  could  be  nothing  but  a  flirtation  of  the  lightest  and 
most  evanescent  description.  She  was  engaged  to  Jack 
Meredith  —  poor  Jack,  who  was  working  for  her,  ever  so 
hard,  somewhere  near  the  equator  —  and  if  Guy  Oscard  did 
not  know  this  he  had  only  himself  to  blame.  There  were 
plenty  of  people  ready  to  tell  him.     He  had  only  to  ask. 

Millicent  Chyne,  like  Guy,  was  hampered  at  the  outset  of 
life  by  theories  upon  it.  Experience,  the  fashionable  novel, 
and  modern  cynicism  had  taught  her  to  expect  little  from 
human  nature— a  dangerous  lesson,  for  it  eases  responsibility, 
and  responsibility  is  the  ten  commandments  rolled  into  a 
compact  whole,  suitable  for  the  pocket. 

She  expected  of  no  man — not  even  of  Jack — that  perfect 
faithfulness  in  every  word  and  thought  which  is  read  of  in 
books.  And  it  is  one  of  the  theories  of  the  day  that  what 
one  does  not  expect  one  is  not  called  upon  to  give.  Jack, 
she  reflected,  was  too  much  a  man  of  the  world  to  expect 


TO    PASS    THE    TIME  63 

her  to  sit  and  mope  alone.  She  was  apparently  incapable 
of  seeing  the  difference  between  that  pastime  and  sitting  on 
the  sea-wall  behind  a  large,  flowering  currant-tree  with  a 
man  who  did  not  pretend  to  hide  the  fact  that  he  was  in 
love  with  her.     Some  women  are  thus. 

"  I  do  not  know  if  you  have  learned  much,"  he  answered ; 
"  but  I  have." 

"What  have  you  learned?"  she  asked,  in  a  low  voice,  half- 
fascinated  by  the  danger  into  which  she  knew  that  she  was 
running. 

"  That  I  love  you,"  he  answered,  standing  squarely  in 
front  of  her,  and  announcing  the  fact  with  a  deliberate  hon- 
esty which  was  rather  startling.  "  I  was  not  sure  of  it  be- 
fore, so  I  stayed  away  from  you  for  three  weeks ;  but  now 
I  know  for  certain." 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  say  that !" 

She  rose  hastily  and  turned  away  from  him.  There  was 
in  her  heart  a  sudden  feeling  of  regret.     It  was  the  feeling 

DO  O 

that  the  keenest  sportsman  sometimes  has  when  some  ma- 
jestic monarch  of  the  forest  falls  before  his  merciless  rifle — 
a  sudden  passing  desire  that  it  might  be  undone. 

"  Why  not  ?"  he  asked.  He  was  desperately  in  earnest, 
and  that  which  made  him  a  good  sportsman — an  unmatched 
big-game  hunter,  calm  and  self-possessed  in  any  strait — gave 
him  a  strange  deliberation  now,  which  Millicent  Chyne  could 
not  understand.     "  Why  not  ?" 

"I  do  not  know — because  you  mustn't." 

And  in  her  heart  she  wanted  him  to  say  it  again. 

"  I  am  not  ashamed  of  it,"  he  said,  "  and  I  do  not  see 
why  I  should  not  say  it  to  you — or  to  any  one  else,  so  far 
as  that  goes." 

"  No,  never !"  she  cried,  really  frightened.  "  To  me  it 
does  not  matter  so  much.  But  to  no  one  else — no,  never! 
Aunt  Marian  must  not  know  it — nor  Sir  John." 

"  I  cannot  see  that  it  is  any  business  of  Sir  John's.  Of 
course,  Lady  Cantourne  would  have  liked  you  to  marry  a 


64  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

title ;  but  if  you  cared  for  me  she  would  be  ready  to  listen 
to  reason." 

In  which  judgment  of  the  good  lady  he  was  no  doubt 
right  —  especially  if  reason  spoke  with  the  voice  of  three 
thousand  pounds  per  annum. 

"  Do  you  care  for  me  ?"  he  asked,  coming  a  little  closer. 

There  was  a  whole  world  of  gratified  vanity  and  ungrati- 
fled  curiosity  for  her  in  the  presence  of  this  strong  man  at 
her  elbow.  It  was  one  of  the  supreme  triumphs  of  her  life, 
because  he  was  different  from  the  rest.  He  was  for  her 
what  his  first  tiger  had  been  for  him.  The  danger  that  he 
might  come  still  nearer  had  for  her  a  sense  of  keen  pleas- 
ure. She  was  thoroughly  enjoying  herself,  and  the  nearest 
approach  that  men  can  experience  to  the  joy  that  was  hers 
is  the  joy  of  battle. 

"  I  cannot  answer  that — not  now." 

And  the  little  half-shrinking  glance  over  her  shoulder  was 
a  low-minded,  unmaidenly  invitation.  But  he  was  in  ear- 
nest, and  he  was,  above  all,  a  gentleman.  He  stood  his 
ground  a  yard  away  from  her. 

"  Then  when,"  he  asked — "  when  will  you  answer  me  ?" 

She  stood  with  her  back  turned  towards  him,  looking  out 
over  the  smooth  waters  of  the  Solent,  where  one  or  two 
yachts  and  a  heavy  black  schooner  were  creeping  up  on  the 
tide  before  the  morning  breeze.  She  drummed  reflectively 
with  her  fingers  on  the  low  stone  wall.  Beneath  them  a 
few  mills  whirled  and  screamed  over  a  shoal  of  little  fish. 
One  of  the  birds  had  a  singular  cry,  as  if  it  were  laughing 
to  itself. 

"  You  said  just  now,"  Millicent  answered  at  length,  "  that 
you  were  not  sure  yourself — not  at  first — and,  therefore,  you 
cannot  expect  me  to  know  all  at  once." 

"You  would  know  at  once,"  he  argued,  gravely,  "if  it 
were  going  to  be  '  No.'  If  you  do  not  say  '  No  '  now,  I  can 
only  think  that  it  may  be  'Yes'  some  day.  And" — he  came 
closer — he  took  the  hand  that  hung  at  her  side — conven- 


LOANGO  65 

iently  near — "and  I  don't  want  you  to  say  'No'  now.  Don't 
say  'No'!  I  will  wait  as  long  as  you  like  for  '  Yes.'  Milli- 
cent,  I  would  rather  go  on  waiting  and  thinking  that  it  is 
going  to  be  '  Yes,'  even  if  it  is  '  No '  after  all." 

She  said  nothing,  but  she  left  her  hand  in  his. 

"  May  I  go  on  thinking  that  it  will  be  '  Yes '  until  I  come 
back?" 

"  I  cannot  prevent  your  thinking,  can  I  ?"  she  whispered, 
with  a  tender  look  in  her  eyes. 

"  And  may  I  write  to  you  ?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

«  Well— I— I—  Now  and  then,"  he  pleaded.  "  Not 
often.     Just  to  remind  you  of  my  existence." 

She  gave  a  little  laugh,  which  he  liked  exceedingly  and 
remembered  afterwards. 

"  If  you  like,"  she  answered. 

At  this  moment  Lady  Cantourne's  voice  was  heard  in  the 
distance,  calling  them. 

"  There !"  exclaimed  Millicent.  "  We  must  go  at  once. 
And  no  one — no  one,  mind — must  know  of  this." 

"  No  one  shall  know  of  it,"  he  answered. 


CHAPTER   X 
LOANGO 


11  Faithful  and  hopeful,  wise  in  charity, 
Strong  in  grave  peace,  in  pity  circumspect." 

Those  who  for  their  sins  have  been  to  Loango  will 
scarcely  care  to  have  its  beauties  recalled  to  memory.  And 
to  such  as  have  not  visited  the  spot  one  can  only  earnestly 
recommend  a  careful  avoidance. 

Suffice  it  to  say,  therefore,  that  there  is  such  a  place,  and 


66  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

the  curious  may  find  it  marked  in  larger  type  than  it  de- 
serves on  the  map  of  Africa,  on  the  west  coast  of  that 
country,  and  within  an  inch  or  so  of  the  equator. 

Loango  has  a  bar,  and  outside  of  that  mysterious  and 
somewhat  suggestive  nautical  hinderance  the  coasting  steam- 
ers anchor,  while  the  smaller  local  fry  find  harbor  nearer 
to  the  land.  The  passenger  is  not  recommended  to  go 
ashore — indeed,  many  difficulties  are  placed  in  his  way,  and 
he  usually  stays  on  board  while  the  steamer  receives  or  dis- 
charges a  scanty  cargo,  rolling  ceaselessly  in  the  Atlantic 
swell.  The  roar  of  the  surf  may  be  heard,  and  at  times 
some  weird  cry  or  song.  There  is  nothing  to  tempt  even 
the  most  adventurous  through  that  surf.  A  moderately 
large  white  building  attracts  the  eye,  and  usually  brings 
upon  itself  a  contemptuous  stare,  for  it  seems  to  be  the 
town  of  Loango,  marked  so  bravely  on  the  map.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  the  town  is  five  miles  inland,  and  the  white 
building  is  only  a  factory  or  trading  establishment. 

Loango  is  the  reverse  of  cheerful.  To  begin  with,  it  is 
usually  raining  there.  The  roar  of  the  surf — than  which 
there  are  few  sadder  sounds  on  earth — fills  the  atmosphere 
with  a  never-ceasing  melancholy.  The  country  is  over- 
wooded  ;  the  tropical  vegetation,  the  huge  tangled  African 
trees,  stand  almost  in  the  surf;  and  inland  the  red  serrated 
hills  mount  guard  in  gloomy  arrayc  For  Europeans  this 
country  is  accursed.  From  the  mysterious  forest-land  there 
creeps  down  a  subtle,  tainted  air  that  poisons  the  white 
man's  blood,  and  either  strikes  him  down  in  a  fever  or  ter- 
rifies him  by  strange  unknown  symptoms  and  sudden  dis- 
figuring disease.  The  Almighty  speaks  very  plainly  some- 
times and  in  some  places — nowhere  more  plainly  than  on 
the  West  Coast  of  Africa,  which  land  He  evidently  wants 
for  the  black  man.  We,  of  the  fairer  skin,  have  Australia 
now;  we  are  taking  America,  we  are  dominant  in  Asia; 
but  somehow  we  don't  get  on  in  Africa.  The  Umpire  is 
there,  and  He  insists  on  fair  play. 


LOANGO  67 

"  This  is  not  cheery,"  Jack  Meredith  observed  to  his  ser- 
vant, as  they  found  themselves  deposited  on  the  beach  within 
a  stone's-throw  of  the  French  factory. 

"No,  sir,  not  cheery,  sir,"  replied  Joseph.  He  was  very 
busy  attending  to  the  landing  of  their  personal  effects,  and 
had  only  time  to  be  respectful.  It  was  Joseph's  way  to  do 
only  one  thing  at  a  time,  on  the  principle,  no  doubt,  that 
enough  for  the  moment  is  the  evil  thereof.  His  manner 
implied  that,  when  those  colored  gentlemen  had  got  the 
baggage  safely  conveyed  out  of  the  boats  onto  the  beach, 
it  would  be  time  enough  to  think  about  Loango. 

Moreover,  Joseph  was,  in  his  way,  rather  a  dauntless  per- 
son. He  held  that  there  were  few  difficulties  which  he  and 
his  master,  each  in  his  respective  capacity,  were  unable  to 
meet.  This  African  mode  of  life  was  certainly  not  one  for 
which  he  had  bargained  when  taking  service;  but  he  rather 
enjoyed  it  than  otherwise,  and  he  was  consoled  by  the  re- 
flection that  what  was  good  enough  for  his  master  was  good 
enough  for  him.  Beneath  the  impenetrable  mask  of  a  dig- 
nified servitude  he  knew  that  this  was  "  all  along  of  that 
Chyne  girl,"  and  rightly  conjectured  that  it  would  not  last 
forever.  He  had  an  immense  respect  for  Sir  John,  whom 
he  tersely  described  as  a  "  game  one,"  but  his  knowledge  of 
the  world  went  towards  the  supposition  that  headstrong 
age  would  finally  bow  before  headstrong  youth.  He  did 
not,  however,  devote  much  consideration  to  these  matters, 
being  a  young  man,  although  an  old  soldier,  and  taking  a 
lively  interest  in  the  present. 

It  had  been  arranged  by  letter  that  Jack  Meredith  should 
put  up,  as  his  host  expressed  it,  at  the  small  bungalow  oc- 
cupied by  Maurice  Gordon  and  his  sister.  Gordon  was  the 
local  head  of  a  large  trading  association  somewhat  after  the 
style  of  the  old  East  India  Company,  and  his  duties  par- 
took more  of  the  glory  of  a  governor  than  of  the  routine 
of  a  trader. 

Of  Maurice  Gordon's  past  Meredith  knew  nothing  beyond 


68  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

the  fact  that  they  were  school-fellows  strangely  brought  to- 
gether again  on  the  deck  of  a  coasting  steamer.  Maurice 
Gordon  was  not  a  reserved  person,  and  it  was  rather  from  a 
lack  of  opportunity  than  from  an  excess  of  caution  that  he 
allowed  his  new-found  friend  to  go  up  the  Ogowe  River 
knowing  so  little  of  himself — Maurice  Gordon,  of  Loango. 

There  were  plenty  of  willing  guides  and  porters  on  the 
beach ;  for  in  this  part  of  Africa  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
continued  and  methodical  labor.  The  entire  population 
consider  the  lilies  of  the  fields  to  obvious  purpose. 

Joseph  presently  organized  a  considerable  portion  of  this 
population  into  a  procession,  headed  triumphantly  by  an  old 
white-woolled  negro  whose  son  cleaned  Maurice  Gordon's 
boots.  This  man  Joseph  selected — not  without  one  or  two 
jokes  of  a  somewhat  personal  nature — as  a  fitting  guide  to 
the  Gordons'  house.  As  they  neared  the  little  settlement 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  black  town  where  the  mission  and 
other  European  residences  are  situated,  the  veteran  guide 
sent  on  couriers  to  announce  the  arrival  of  the  great  gentle- 
man, who  had  for  body-servant  the  father  of  laughter. 

On  finally  reaching  the  bungalow  Meredith  was  pleasantly 
surprised.  It  was  pretty  and  homelike — surrounded  by  a 
garden  wherein  grew  a  strange  profusion  of  homely  English 
vegetables  and  tropical  flowers. 

Joseph  happened  to  be  in  front,  and,  as  he  neared  the 
veranda,  he  suddenly  stopped  at  the  salute;  moreover,  he 
began  to  wonder  in  which  trunk  he  had  packed  his  master's 
dress-clothes. 

An  English  lady  was  coming  out  of  the  drawing-room 
window  to  meet  the  travellers — a  lady  whose  presence  dif- 
fused that  sense  of  refinement  and  peace  into  the  atmosphere 
which  has  done  as  much  towards  the  expansion  of  our  piece- 
meal empire  as  ever  did  the  strong  right  arm  of  Thomas 
Atkins.  It  is  because — sooner  or  later — these  ladies  come 
with  us  that  we  have  learned  to  mingle  peace  with  war — to 
make  friends  of  whilom  enemies. 


LOANGO  69 

She  nodded  in  answer  to  the  servant's  salutation,  and 
passed  on  to  greet  the  master. 

"  My  brother  has  been  called  away  suddenly,"  she  said. 
"  One  of  his  sub-agents  has  been  getting  into  trouble  with 
the  natives.     Of  course  you  are  Mr.  Meredith?" 

"  I  am,"  replied  Jack,  taking  the  hand  she  held  out ;  it 
was  a  small  white  hand — small  without  being  frail  or  diaph- 
anous. "And  you  are  Miss  Gordon,  I  suppose?  I  am 
sorry  Gordon  is  away,  but  no  doubt  we  shall  be  able  to  find 
somewhere  to  put  up." 

"You  need  not  do  that,"  she  said,  quietly.  "This  is 
Africa,  you  know.  You  can  quite  well  stay  with  us,  although 
Maurice  is  away  until  to-morrow." 

"Sure?"  he  asked. 

"  Quite  !"  she  answered. 

She  was  tall  and  fair,  with  a  certain  stateliness  of  carriage 
which  harmonized  wonderfully  with  a  thoughtful  and  pale 
face.  She  was  not  exactly  pretty,  but  gracious  and  womanly, 
with  honest  blue  eyes  that  looked  on  men  and  women  alike. 
She  was  probably  twenty-eight  years  of  age;  her  manner 
was  that  of  a  woman  rather  than  that  of  a  girl — of  one  who 
was  in  life  and  not  on  the  outskirts. 

"  We  rather  pride  ourselves,"  she  said,  leading  the  way 
into  the  drawing-room,  "  upon  having  the  best  house  in 
Loango.  You  will,  I  think,  be  more  comfortable  here  than 
anywhere." 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him  with  a  slow,  grave  smile. 
She  was  noticing  that,  of  the  men  who  had  been  in  this  draw- 
ing-room, none  had  seemed  so  entirely  at  his  ease  as  this  one. 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  believe  that  I  was  thinking  of  your 
comfort  and  not  of  my  own." 

"Yes,  I  know  you  were,"  she  answered.  "Our  circle  is 
rather  limited,  as  you  will  find,  and  very  few  of  the  neigh- 
bors have  time  to  think  of  their  houses.  Most  of  them  are 
missionaries,  and  they  are  so  busy ;  they  have  a  large  field, 
you  see." 


70  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  Very — and  a  weedy  one,  I  should  think." 

He  was  looking  round,  noting  with  well-trained  glance 
the  thousand  little  indescribable  touches  that  make  a  charm- 
ing room.  He  knew  his  ground.  He  knew  the  date  and 
the  meaning  of  every  little  ornament — the  title  and  the 
writer  of  each  book — the  very  material  with  which  the 
chairs  were  covered ;  and  he  knew  that  all  was  good — all 
arranged  with  that  art  which  is  the  difference  between 
ignorance  and  knowledge. 

"  I  see  you  have  all  the  new  books." 

"  Yes,  we  have  books  and  magazines ;  but,  of  course,  we 
live  quite  out  of  the  world." 

She  paused,  leaving  the  conversation  with  him  as  in  the 
hands  of  one  who  knows  his  business. 

"  I,"  he  said,  filling  up  the  pause,  "  have  hitherto  lived  in 
the  world — right  in  it.  There  is  a  lot  of  dust  and  commo- 
tion ;  the  dust  gets  into  people's  eyes  and  blinds  them ;  the 
commotion  wears  them  out ;  and  perhaps,  after  all,  Loango 
is  better  I" 

He  spoke  with  the  easy  independence  of  the  man  of  the 
world,  accustomed  to  feel  his  way  in  strange  places — not 
heeding  what  opinion  he  might  raise — what  criticism  he 
might  brave.  He  was  glancing  round  him  all  the  while, 
noting  things,  and  wondering  for  whose  benefit  this  pretty 
room  had  been  evolved  in  the  heart  of  a  savage  country. 
Perhaps  he  had  assimilated  erroneous  notions  of  woman- 
kind in  the  world  of  which  he  spoke ;  perhaps  he  had  never 
met  any  of  those  women  whose  natural  refinement  urges 
them  to  surround  themselves,  even  in  solitude,  with  pretty 
things,  and  prompts  them  to  dress  as  neatly  and  becom- 
ingly as  their  circumstances  allow  for  the  edification  of  no 
man. 

"  I  never  abuse  Loango,"  she  answered ;  "  such  abuse  is 
apt  to  recoil.  To  call  a  place  dull  is  often  a  confession  of 
dulness." 

He  laughed — still  in  that  somewhat  unnatural  manner,  as 


LOANGO  71 

if  desirous  of  filling  up  time.  He  bad  spent  the  latter  year 
of  his  life  in  doing  nothing  else.  The  man's  method  was  so 
different  to  what  Jocelyn  Gordon  had  met  with  in  Loango, 
where  men  were  all  in  deadly  earaest,  pursuing  souls  or 
wealth,  that  it  struck  her  forcibly,  and  she  remembered  it 
long  after  Meredith  had  forgotten  its  use. 

"  I  have  no  idea,"  she  continued,  "  how  the  place  strikes 
the  passing  traveller;  he  usually  passes  by  on  the  other 
side;  but  I  am  afraid  there  is  nothing  to  arouse  the  small- 
est interest." 

"But,  Miss  Gordon,  I  am  not  the  passing  traveller." 

She  looked  up  with  a  sudden  interest. 

"  Indeed !  I  understood  from  Maurice  that  you  were 
travelling  down  the  coast  without  any  particular  object." 

"  I  have  an  object — estimable,  if  not  quite  original." 

"Yes?" 

"  I  want  to  make  some  money.  I  have  never  made  any  yet, 
so  there  is  a  certain  novelty  in  the  thought  which  is  pleasant." 

She  smiled  with  the  faintest  suspicion  of  incredulity. 

"  I  know  what  you  are  thinking,"  he  said ;  "  that  I  am 
too  neat  and  tidy  —  too  namby-pamby  to  do  anything  in 
this  country.  That  my  boots  are  too  narrow  in  the  toe,  my 
hair  too  short,  and  my  face  too  clean.  I  cannot  help  it.  It 
is  the  fault  of  the  individual  you  saw  outside — Joseph.  He 
insists  on  a  strict  observance  of  the  social  duties." 

"  We  are  rougher  here,"  she  answered. 

"  I  left  England,"  he  explained,  "  in  rather  a  hurry.  I 
had  no  time  to  buy  uncomfortable  boots,  or  anything  like 
that.  I  know  it  was  wrong.  The  ordinary  young  man  of 
society  who  goes  morally  to  the  dogs  and  physically  to  the 
colonies  always  has  an  outfit.  His  friends  buy  him  an  out- 
fit, and  certain  enterprising  haberdashers  make  a  study  of 
such  things.     I  came  as  I  am." 

While  he  was  speaking  she  had  been  watching  him — 
studying  him  more  closely  than  she  had  hitherto  been  able 
to  do. 


72  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  I  once  met  a  Sir  John  Meredith,"  she  said,  suddenly. 

"  My  father." 

He  paused,  drawing  in  his  legs,  and  apparently  studying 
the  neat  brown  boots  of  which  there  had  been  question. 

"  Should  you  meet  him  again,"  he  went  on,  "  it  would 
not  be  advisable  to  mention  my  name.  He  might  not  care 
to  hear  it.  We  have  had  a  slight  difference  of  opinion. 
With  me  it  is  different.  I  am  always  glad  to  hear  about 
him.     I  have  an  immense  respect  for  him." 

She  listened  gravely,  with  a  sympathy  that  did  not  at- 
tempt to  express  itself  in  words.  On  such  a  short  acquaint- 
ance she  had  not  learned  to  expect  a  certain  lightness  of 
conversational  touch  which  he  always  assumed  when  speak- 
ing of  himself,  as  if  his  own  thoughts  and  feelings  were 
matters  for  ridicule. 

"  Of  course,"  he  went  on,  "  I  was  in  the  wrong.  I  know 
that.  But  it  sometimes  happens  that  a  man  is  not  in  a  po- 
sition to  admit  that  he  is  in  the  wrong — when,  for  instance, 
another  person  would  suffer  by  such  an  admission." 

"Yes,"  answered  Jocelyn — "I  understand." 

At  this  moment  a  servant  came  in  with  lamps,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  close  the  windows.  She  was  quite  an  old  woman 
— an  Englishwoman  ;  and  as  she  placed  the  lamps  upon 
the  table  she  scrutinized  the  guest  after  the  manner  of  a 
privileged  servitor.  When  she  had  departed  Jack  Meredith 
continued  his  narrative  with  a  sort  of  deliberation  which 
was  explained  later  on. 

"  And,"  he  said,  "  that  is  why  I  came  to  Africa — that  is 
why  I  want  to  make  money.  I  do  not  mind  confessing  to 
a  low  greed  of  gain,  because  I  think  I  have  the  best  motive 
that  a  man  can  have  for  wanting  to  make  money." 

He  said  this  meaningly,  and  watched  her  face  all  the 
while. 

"  A  motive  which  any  lady  ought  to  approve  of." 

She  smiled  sympathetically. 

"  I  approve  and  I  admire  your  spirit." 


A    COMPACT 


IS 


She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  moved  towards  a  side -table, 
•where  two  lighted  candles  had  been  placed. 

"  My  motive  for  talking  so  barefacedly  about  myself,"  he 
said,  as  they  moved  towards  the  door  together,  "  was  to  let 
you  know  exactly  who  I  am  and  why  I  am  here.  It  was 
only  due  to  you  on  accepting  your  hospitality.  .1  might 
have  been  a  criminal,  or  an  escaped  embezzler.  There  were 
two  on  board  the  steamer  coming  out,  and  several  other 
shady  characters."  » 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl,  "  I  saw  your  motive." 

They  were  now  in  the  hall,  and  the  aged  servant  was 
waiting  to  show  him  his  room. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A     COMPACT 
"  Drifting,  slow  drifting  down  a  wizard  stream." 

"  No  one  knows,"  Victor  Durnovo  was  in  the  habit  of 
saying,  "  what  is  going  on  in  the  middle  of  Africa." 

And  on  this  principle  he  acted. 

"  Ten  miles  above  the  camping-ground  where  we  first 
met,"  he  had  told  Meredith,  "you  will  find  a  village  where 
I  have  my  headquarters.  There  is  quite  a  respectable  house 
there,  with — a — a  woman  to  look  after  your  wants.  When 
you  have  fixed  things  up  at  Loango,  and  have  arranged  for 
the  dhows  to  meet  my  steamer,  take  up  all  your  men  to  this 
village  —  Msala  is  the  name  —  and  send  the  boats  back. 
Wait  there  till  we  come." 

In  due  time  the  telegram  came,  via  St.  Paul  de  Loanda, 
announcing  the  fact  that  Oscard  had  agreed  to  join  the  ex- 
pedition, and  that  Durnovo  and  he  might  be  expected  at 
Msala  in  one  month  from  that  time.     It  was  not  without  a 


74  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

vague  feeling  of  regret  that  Jack  Meredith  read  this  tele- 
gram. To  be  at  Msala  in  a  month  with  forty  men  and  a 
vast  load  of  provisions  meant  leaving  Loango  almost  at 
once.  And,  strange  though  it  may  seem,  he  had  become 
somewhat  attached  to  the  dreary  East  African  town.  The 
singular  cosmopolitan  society  was  entirely  new  to  him ;  the 
life,  taken  as  a  life,  almost  unique.  He  knew  that  he  had 
not  outstayed  his  welcome.  Maurice  Gordon  had  taken 
care  to  assure  him  of  that  in  his  boisterous,  hearty  manner, 
savoring  more  of  Harrow  than  of  Eton,  every  morning  at 
breakfast. 

"  Confound  Durnovo  !"  he  cried,  when  the  telegram  had 
been  read  aloud.  "  Confound  him,  with  his  energy  and  his 
business-like  habits !  That  means  that  you  will  have  to 
leave  us  before  long ;  and  somehow  it  has  got  to  be  quite 
natural  to  see  you  come  lounging  in  ten  minutes  late  for 
most  things,  with  an  apology  for  Jocelyn,  but  none  for  me. 
We  shall  miss  you,  old  chap." 

"  Yes,"  added  Jocelyn,  "  we  shall." 

She  was  busy  with  the  cups,  and  spoke  rather  indifferently. 

"So  you've  got  Oscard  ?"  continued  Maurice.  "  I  imagine 
he  is  a  good  man — tip-top  shot,  and  all  that.  I've  never 
met  him,  but  I  have  heard  of  him." 

"  He  is  a  gentleman,  at  all  events,"  said  Meredith,  quietly ; 
"  I  know  that." 

Jocelyn  was  looking  at  him  between  the  hibiscus  flowers 
decorating  the  table. 

"  Is  Mr.  Durnovo  going  to  be  leader  of  the  expedition  ?" 
she  inquired,  casually,  after  a  few  moments'  silence ;  and 
Jack,  looking  up  with  a  queer  smile,  met  her  glance  for  a 
moment. 

"  No,"  he  answered. 

Maurice  Gordon's  hearty  laugh  interrupted. 

"  Ha,  ha !"  he  cried.  "  I  wonder  where  the  dickens  you 
men  are  going  to  3" 

"  Up  the  Ogowe  River,"  replied  Jack. 


A    COMPACT  75 

"  No  doubt.  But  what  for  ?  There  is  something  mys- 
terious about  that  river.  Durnovo  keeps  his  poor  relations 
there,  or  something  of  that  kind." 

"  We  are  not  going  to  look  for  them." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Maurice,  helping  himself  to  marma- 
lade, "  that  he  has  dropped  upon  some  large  deposit  of 
ivory ;  that  will  turn  out  to  be  the  solution  of  the  mystery. 
It  is  the  solution  of  most  mysteries  in  this  country.  I 
wish  I  could  solve  the  mysteries  of  ways  and  means,  and 
drop  upon  a  large  deposit  of  ivory,  or  spice,  or  precious 
stones.  We  should  soon  be  out  of  this  country,  should  we 
not,  old  girl  ?" 

"  I  do  not  think  we  have  much  to  complain  of,"  answered 
Jocelyn. 

"  No ;  you  never  do.  Moreover,  I  do  not  suppose  you 
would  do  so  if  you  had  the  excuse." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  should,  if  I  thought  it  would  do  any  good." 

"  x\h  !"  put  in  Meredith  ;  "  there  speaks  Philosophy — 
jam,  please." 

"Or  resignation — that  is  strawberry  and  this  is  black 
currant." 

"  Thanks,  black  currant.  No — Philosophy.  Resignation 
is  the  most  loathsome  of  the  virtues." 

"  I  can't  say  I  care  for  any  of  them  very  much,"  put  in 
Maurice. 

"No;  I  thought  you  seemed  to  shun  them,"  said  Jack, 
like  a  flash. 

"  Sharp !  very  sharp !  Jocelyn,  do  you  know  what  we 
called  him  at  school?  —  the  French  nail;  he  was  so  very 
long  and  thin  and  sharp  !  I  might  add  polished  and  strong, 
but  we  were  not  so  polite  in  those  days.  Poor  old  Jack ! 
he  gave  as  good  as  he  got.  But  I  must  be  off  —  the  com- 
merce of  Eastern  Africa  awaits  me.  You'll  be  round  at  the 
office  presently,  I  suppose,  Jack  ?" 

"Yes;  I  have  an  appointment  there  with  a  colored  per- 
son who  is  a  liar  by  nature  and  a  cook  by  trade." 


*76  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Maurice  Gordon  usually  went  off  like  this  —  at  a  mo. 
ment's  notice.  He  was  one  of  those  loud  -  speaking,  quick- 
actioned  men,  who  often  get  a  reputation  for  energy  and 
capacity  without  fully  deserving  it. 

Jack,  of  a  more  meditative  habit,  rarely  followed  his  host 
with  the  same  obvious  haste.  He  finished  his  breakfast 
calmly,  and  then  asked  Jocelyn  whether  she  was  coming 
out  onto  the  veranda.  It  was  a  habit  they  had  uncon- 
sciously dropped  into.  The  veranda  was  a  very  important 
feature  of  the  house,  thickly  overhung  as  it  was  with  palms, 
bananas,  and  other  tropical  verdure.  Africa  is  the  land  of 
creepers,  and  all  around  this  veranda,  over  the  trellis-work, 
around  the  supports,  hanging  in  festoons  from  the  roof, 
were  a  thousand  different  creeping  flowers.  The  legend  of 
the  house  —  for,  as  in  India,  almost  every  bungalow  on  the 
West  Coast  has  its  tale — was  that  one  of  the  early  mission- 
aries had  built  it,  and,  to  beguile  the  long  months  of  the 
rainy  season,  had  carefully  collected  these  creepers  to  beau- 
tify the  place  against  the  arrival  of  his  young  wife.  She 
never  came.  A  telegram  stopped  her.  A  snake  interrupted 
his  labor  of  love. 

Jack  took  a  seat  at  once,  and  began  to  search  for  his 
cigar-case  in  the  pocket  of  his  jacket.  In  this  land  of  flies 
and  moths,  men  need  not  ask  permission  before  they  smoke. 
Jocelyn  did  not  sit  down  at  once.  She  went  to  the  front 
of  the  veranda  and  watched  her  brother  mount  his  horse. 
She  was  a  year  older  than  Maurice  Gordon,  and  exercised 
a  larger  influence  over  his  life  than  either  of  them  sus- 
pected. 

Presently  he  rode  past  the  veranda,  waving  his  hand 
cheerily.  He  was  one  of  those  large,  hearty  Englishmen 
who  seem  to  be  all  appetite  and  laughter  —  men  who  may 
be  said  to  be  manly,  and  beyond  that,  nothing.  Their 
manliness  is  so  overpowering  that  it  swallows  up  many 
other  qualities  which  are  not  out  of  place  in  men,  such  as 
tact  and  thoughtfulness,  and  perhaps  intellectuality,  and  the 


A    COMPACT  *11 

power  to  take  some  interest  in  those  gentler  things  that  in- 
terest women. 

When  Jocelyn  came  to  the  back  of  the  veranda  she  was 
thinking  about  her  brother  Maurice,  and  it  never  suggested 
itself  to  her  that  she  should  not  speak  her  thoughts  to 
Meredith,  whom  she  had  not  seen  until  three  weeks  ago. 
She  had  never  spoken  of  Maurice  behind  his  back  to  any 
man  before. 

"  Does  it  ever  strike  you,"  she  said,  "  that  Maurice  is  the 
sort  of  man  to  be  led  astray  by  evil  influence  ?" 

"Yes;  or  to  be  led  straight  by  a  good  influence,  such  as 
yours." 

He  did  not  meet  her  thoughtful  gaze.  He  was  apparent- 
ly watching  the  retreating  form  of  the  horse  through  the 
tangle  of  flower  and  leaf  and  tendril. 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  the  girl,  "that  my  influence  is  not  of 
much  account." 

"Do  you  really  believe  that?"  asked  Meredith,  turning 
upon  her  with  a  half-cynical  smile. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  simply. 

Before  speaking  again  he  took  a  pull  at  his  cigar. 

"Your  influence,"  he  said,  "appears  to  me  to  be  the 
making  of  Maurice  Gordon.  I  frequently  see  serious  flaws 
in  the  policy  of  Providence;  but  I  suppose  there  is  wisdom 
in  making  the  strongest  influence  that  which  is  unconscious 
of  its  power." 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  I  have  some  power  over  him," 
said  Jocelyn  ;  "  but,  at  the  same  time,  it  makes  me  uneasy, 
because  it  only  confirms  my  conviction  that  he  is  very  easily 
led.  And  suppose  my  influence — such  as  it  is — was  with- 
drawn ?  Suppose  that  I  were  to  die,  or,  what  appears  to  be 
more  likely,  suppose  that  he  should  marry  V 

"  Then  let  us  hope  that  he  will  marry  the  right  person. 
People  sometimes  do,  you  know." 

She  smiled  with  a  strange  little  flicker  of  the  eyelids. 
They  had  grown  wonderfully  accustomed  to  each  other  dur- 


V8  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

ing  the  last  three  weeks.  Here,  it  would  appear,  was  one 
of  those  friendships  between  man  and  woman  that  occa- 
sionally set  the  world  agog  with  curiosity  and  scepticism. 
But  there  seemed  to  be  no  doubt  about  it.  He  was  over 
thirty,  she  verging  on  that  prosaic  age.  Both  had  lived 
and  moved  in  the  world;  to  both  life  was  an  open  book, 
and  they  had  probably  discovered,  as  most  of  us  do,  that 
the  larger  number  of  the  leaves  are  blank.  He  had  almost 
told  her  that  he  was  engaged  to  be  married,  and  she  had 
quite  understood.  There  could  not  possibly  be  any  misap- 
prehension ;  there  was  no  room  for  one  of  those  little  mis- 
takes about  which  people  write  novels  and  foldly  hope  that 
some  youthful  reader  may  be  carried  away  by  a  very  faint 
resemblance  to  that  which  they  hold  to  be  life.  Moreover, 
at  thirty,  one  leaves  the  first  romance  of  youth  behind. 

There  was  something  in  her  smile  that  suggested  that 
she  did  not  quite  believe  in  his  cynicism. 

"  Also,"  she  said,  gravely,  "  some  stronger  influence  might 
appear — an  influence  which  I  could  not  counteract." 

Jack  Meredith  turned  in  his  long  chair  and  looked  at  her 
searchingly. 

"  I  have  a  vague  idea,"  he  said,  "  that  you  are  thinking 
of  Durnovo." 

"  I  am,"  she  admitted,  with  some  surprise.  "  I  wonder 
how  you  knew  ?     I  am  afraid  of  him." 

"  I  can  reassure  you  on  that  score,"  said  Meredith.  "  For 
the  next  two  years  or  so  Durnovo  will  be  in  daily  inter- 
course with  me.  He  will  be  under  my  immediate  eye.  I 
did  not  anticipate  much  pleasure  from  his  society,  but  now 
I  do." 

"  Why  ?"  she  asked,  rather  mystified. 

"  Because  I  shall  have  the  daily  satisfaction  of  knowing 
that  I  am  relieving  you  of  an  anxiety." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  put  it  in  that  way,"  said 
Jocelyn.  "  But  I  should  not  like  you  to  sacrifice  yourself 
to  what  may  be  a  foolish  prejudice  on  my  part." 


A    COMPACT  79 

"It  is  not  a  foolish  prejudice.  Durnovo  is  not  a  gentle- 
man, either  by  birth  or  inclination.  He  is  not  fit  to  asso- 
ciate with  you." 

To  this  Jocelyn  answered  nothing.  Victor  Durnovo  was 
one  of  her  brother's  closest  friends — a  friend  of  his  own 
choosing. 

"  Miss  Gordon,"  said  Meredith,  suddenly,  with  a  gravity 
that  was  rare,  "  will  you  do  me  a  favor  ?" 

"  I  think  I  should  like  to." 

"You  admit  that  you  are  afraid  of  Durnovo  now ;  if  at 
any  time  you  have  reason  to  be  more  afraid,  will  you  make 
use  of  me?  Will  you  write  or  come  to  me  and  ask  my 
help?" 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  hesitatingly. 

"You  see,"  he  went  on  in  a  lighter  tone,  "/  am  not 
afraid  of  Durnovo.  I  have  met  Durnovo  before.  You 
may  have  observed  that  my  locks  no  longer  resemble  the 
raven's  wing.  There  is  a  little  gray — just  here — above  the 
temple.  I  am  getting  on  in  life,  and  I  know  how  to  deal 
with  Durnovos." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  little  sigh  of  relief. 
"The  feeling  that  I  have  some  one  to  turn  to  will  be  a 
great  relief.  You  see  how  I  am  placed  here.  The  mis- 
sionaries are  verv  kind  and  well-meaning,  but  there  are 
some  things  which  they  do  not  quite  understand.  They 
may  be  gentlemen — some  of  them  are ;  but  they  are  not 
men  of  the  world.  I  have  no  definite  thought  or  fear,  and 
very  good  persons,  one  finds,  are  occasionally  a  little  dense. 
Unless  things  are  very  definite,  they  do  not  understand. y> 

"  On  the  other  hand,"  pursued  Jack,  in  the  same  reflect- 
ive tone,  as  if  taking  up  her  thought,  "  persons  who  are 
not  good  have  a  perception  of  the  indefinite.  I  did  not 
think  of  it  in  that  light  before." 

Jocelyn  Gordon  laughed  softly,  without  attempting  to 
meet  his  lighter  vein. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  after  a  little  silence,  "  that  I 


80  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

wa,s  actually  thinking  of  warning  you  against  Mr.  Durnovo? 
Now  I  stand  aghast  at  my  own  presumption." 

"  It  was  kind  of  you  to  give  the  matter  any  thought 
whatever." 

He  rose  and  threw  away  the  end  of  his  cigar.  Joseph 
was  already  before  the  door,  leading  the  horse  which 
Maurice  Gordon  had  placed  at  his  visitor's  disposal. 

"  I  will  lay  the  warning  to  heart,"  he  said,  standing  in 
front  of  Jocelyn,  and  looking  down  at  her  as  she  lay  back 
in  the  deep  basket-chair.  She  was  simply  dressed  in  white 
— as  was  her  wont,  for  it  must  be  remembered  that  they 
were  beneath  the  equator — a  fair  English  maiden,  whose 
thoughts  were  hidden  behind  a  certain  gracious,  impenetra- 
ble reserve.  "  I  will  lay  it  to  heart,  although  you  have  not 
uttered  it.  But  I  have  always  known  with  what  sort  of 
man  I  was  dealing.  We  serve  each  other's  purpose,  that  is 
all ;  and  he  knows  that  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  I  am  glad  Mr.  Oscard  is  going  with  yon,"  she  answered, 
guardedly. 

He  waited  a  moment.  It  seemed  as  if  she  had  not  done 
speaking — as  if  there  was  another  thought  near  the  surface. 
But  she  did  not  give  voice  to  it,  and  he  turned  away.  The 
sound  of  the  horse's  feet  on  the  gravel  did  not  arouse  her 
from  a  reverie  into  which  she  had  fallen  ;  and  long  after  it 
had  died  away,  leaving  only  the  hum  of  insect  life  and  the 
distant  ceaseless  song  of  the  surf,  Jocelyn  Gordon  sat  ap- 
parently watching  the  dancing  shadows  on  the  floor  as  the 
creepers  waved  in  the  breeze. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A    MEETING 

"No  one  can  be  more  wise  than  destiny." 

The  short  equatorial  twilight  was  drawing  to  an  end,  and 
all  Nature  stood  in  silence,  while  Night  crept  up  to  claim  the 
land  where  her  reign  is  more  autocratic  than  elsewhere  on 
earth.  There  is  a  black  night  above  the  trees,  and  a  blacker 
beneath.  In  an  hour  it  would  be  dark,  and,  in  the  mean- 
time, the  lowering  clouds  were  tinged  with  a  pink  glow  that 
filtered  through  from  above.  There  was  rain  coming,  and 
probably  thunder.  Moreover,  the  trees  seemed  to  know  it, 
for  there  was  a  limpness  in  their  attitude,  as  if  they  were 
tucking  their  heads  into  their  shoulders  in  anticipation  of 
the  worst.  The  insects  were  certainly  possessed  of  a  pre- 
monition.    They  had  crept  away. 

It  was  distinctly  an  unlikely  evening  for  the  sportsman. 
The  stillness  was  so  complete  that  the  faintest  rustle  could 
be  heard  at  a  great  distance.  Moreover,  it  was  the  sort  of 
evening  when  Nature  herself  seems  to  be  glancing  over  her 
shoulder  with  timorous  restlessness. 

Nevertheless,  a  sportsman  was  abroad.  He  was  creeping 
up  the  right-hand  bank  of  a  stream,  his  only  chance  lying 
in  the  noise  of  the  waters  which  might  serve  to  deaden  the 
sound  of  broken  twig  or  rustling  leaf. 

This  sportsman  was  Jack  Meredith,  and  it  was  evident 
that  he  was  bringing  to  bear  upon  the  matter  in  hand  that 
intelligence  and  keenness  of  perception  which  had  made 
him  a  person  of  some  prominence  in  other  scenes  where 
Nature  has  a  less  assured  place. 

It  would  appear  that  he  was  not  so  much  at  home  in  the 


82  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

tangle  of  an  African  forest  as  in  the  crooked  paths  of 
London  society  ;  for  his  clothes  were  torn  in  more  than  one 
place;  a  mosquito,  done  to  sudden  death,  adhered  san- 
guinarily to  the  side  of  his  aristocratic  nose,  while  heat  and 
mental  distress  had  drawn  damp  stripes  down  his  coun- 
tenance. His  hands  were  scratched  and  inclined  to  bleed, 
and  one  leg  had  apparently  been  in  a  morass.  Added  to 
these  physical  drawbacks  there  was  no  visible  sign  of  suc- 
cess, which  was  probably  the  worst  part  of  Jack  Meredith's 
plight. 

Since  sunset  he  had  been  crawling,  scrambling,  stumbling 
up  the  bank  of  this  stream  in  relentless  pursuit  of  some 
large  animal  which  persistently  kept  hidden  in  the  tangle 
across  the  bed  of  the  river.  The  strange  part  of  it  was  tha\> 
when  he  stopped  to  peep  through  the  branches  the  animal 
stopped  too,  and  he  found  no  way  of  discovering  its  where- 
abouts. More  than  once  they  stopped  thus  for  nearly  five 
minutes,  peering  at  each  other  through  the  heavy  leafage. 
It  was  distinctly  unpleasant,  for  Meredith  felt  that  the 
animal  was  not  afraid  of  him,  and  did  not  fully  understand 
the  situation.  The  respective  positions  of  hunter  and  hunted 
were  imperfectly  defined.  He  had  hitherto  confined  his 
attentions  to  such  game  as  showed  a  sporting  readiness  to 
run  away,  and  there  was  a  striking  novelty  in  this  unseen 
beast  of  the  forest,  fresh,  as  it  were,  from  the  hands  of  its 
Creator,  that  entered  into  the  fun  of  the  thing  from  a 
totally  mistaken  standpoint. 

Once  Meredith  was  able  to  decide  approximately  the 
whereabouts  of  his  prey  by  the  momentary  shaking  of  a 
twig.  He  raised  his  rifle  and  covered  that  twig  steadily  ; 
his  forefinger  played  tentatively  on  the  trigger,  but  on 
second  thoughts  he  refrained.  He  was  keenly  conscious  of 
the  fact  that  the  beast  was  doing  its  work  with  skill  superior 
to  his  own.  In  comparison  to  his,  its  movements  were 
almost  noiseless.  Jack  Meredith  was  too  clever  a  man  to 
be  conceited  iv   the   wrong  place,  which  is  the  habit  of 


A    MEETING  83 

fools.  He  recognized  very  plainly  that  he  was  not  distin- 
guishing himself  in  this  new  field  of  glory;  he  was  not  yet 
an  accomplished  big-game  hunter. 

Twice  he  raised  his  rifle  with  the  intention  of  firing  at 
random  into  the  underwood  on  the  remote  chance  of  bring- 
ing his  enemy  into  the  open.  But  the  fascination  of  this 
duel  of  cunning  was  too  strong,  and  he  crept  onward  with 
bated  breath. 

It  was  terrifically  hot,  and  all  the  while  Night  was  stalking 
westward  on  the  summits  of  the  trees  with  stealthy  tread. 

While  absorbed  in  the  intricacies  of  pursuit  —  while 
anathematizing  tendrils  and  condemning  thorns  to  summary 
judgment — Jack  Meredith  was  not  losing  sight  of  his 
chance  of  getting  back  to  the  little  village  of  Msala.  He 
knew  that  he  had  only  to  follow  the  course  of  the  stream 
downward,  retracing  his  steps  until  a  junction  with  the 
Ogowe  River  was  effected.  In  the  meantime  his  lips  were 
parted  breathlessly,  and  there  was  a  light  in  the  quiet  eyes 
which  might  have  startled  some  of  his  well-bred  friends 
could  they  have  seen  it. 

At  last  he  came  to  an  open  space  made  by  a  slip  of  the 
land  into  the  bed  of  the  river.  When  Jack  Meredith  came 
co  this  he  stepped  out  of  the  thicket  and  stood  in  the  open, 
awaiting  the  approach  of  his  stealthy  prey.  The  sound  of 
its  footfall  was  just  perceptible,  slowly  diminishing  the  dis- 
tance that  divided  them.  Then  the  trees  were  parted,  and 
a  tall,  fair  man  stepped  forward  onto  the  opposite  bank. 

Jack  Meredith  bowed  gravely,  and  the  other  sportsman, 
seeing  the  absurdity  of  the  situation,  burst  into  hearty 
laughter.  In  a  moment  or  two  he  had  leaped  from  rock  to 
rock  and  come  to  Meredith. 

"  It  seems,"  he  said,  "  that  we  have  been  wasting  a  con- 
siderable amount  of  time." 

"I  very  nearly  wasted  powder  and  shot,"  replied  Jack, 
significantly  indicating  his  rifle. 

"  I  saw  you  twice,  and  raised  my  rifle ;  your  breeches  are 


84  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

just  the  color  of  a  young  doe.  Are  you  Meredith?  My 
name  is  Oscard." 

"  Ah  !     Yes,  I  am  Meredith.     I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

They  shook  hands.  There  was  a  twinkle  in  Jack  Mere- 
dith's eyes,  but  Oscard  was  quite  grave.  His  sense  of  humor 
was  not  very  keen,  and  he  was  before  all  things  a  sportsman. 

"  I  left  the  canoes  a  mile  below  Msala  and  landed  to  shoot 
a  deer  we  saw  drinking,  but  I  never  saw  him  afterwards. 
Then  I  heard  you,  and  I  have  been  stalking  you  ever  since." 

"  But  I  never  expected  you  so  soon ;  you  were  not  due 
till — look  !"  Jack  whispered,  suddenly. 

Oscard  turned  on  his  heel,  and  the  next  instant  their  two 
rifles  rang  out  through  the  forest  stillness  in  one  sharp 
crack.  Across  the  stream,  ten  yards  behind  the  spot  where 
Oscard  had  emerged  from  the  brush,  a  leopard  sprang  into 
the  air,  five  feet  from  the  ground,  with  head  thrown  back 
and  paws  clawing  at  the  thinness  of  space  with  grand  free 
sweeps.     The  beast  fell  with  a  thud,  and  lay  still — dead. 

The  two  men  clambered  across  the  rocks  again,  side  by 
side.  While  they  stood  over  the  prostrate  form  of  the 
leopard — beautiful,  incomparably  graceful  and  sleek  even 
in  death — Guy  Oscard  stole  a  sidelong  glance  at  his  com- 
panion. He  was  a  modest  man,  and  yet  he  knew  that  he 
was  reckoned  among  the  big-game  hunters  of  the  age.  This 
man  had  fired  as  quickly  as  himself,  and  there  were  two 
small  trickling  holes  in  the  animal's  head. 

While  he  was  being  quietly  scrutinized  Jack  Meredith 
stooped  down,  and,  taking  the  leopard  beneath  the  shoulders, 
lifted  it  bodily  back  from  the  pool  of  blood. 

"  Pity  to  spoil  the  skin,"  he  explained,  as  he  put  a  fresh 
cartridge  into  his  rifle. 

Oscar  nodded  in  an  approving  way.  He  knew  the  weight 
of  a  full-grown  male  leopard,  all  muscle  and  bone,  and  he 
was  one  of  those  old-fashioned  persons  mentioned  in  the 
Scriptures  as  taking  a  delight  in  a  man's  legs — or  his  arms, 
so  long  as  they  were  strong. 


A    MEETING  85 

"I  suppose,"  he  said,  quietlv,  "  we  had  better  skin  him 
here." 

As  ne  spoke  he  drew  a  long  hunting-knife,  and,  slashing 
down  a  bunch  of  the  maidenhair  fern  that  grew  like  nettles 
around  them,  he  wiped  the  blood  gently,  almost  affection- 
ately, from  the  leopard's  cat-like  face. 

There  was  about  these  two  men  a  strict  attention  to  the 
matter  in  hand,  a  mutual  and  common  respect  for  all  things 
pertaining  to  sport,  a  quiet  sense  of  settling  down  without 
delay  to  the  regulation  of  necessary  detail  that  promised 
well  for  any  future  interest  they  might  have  in  common. 

So  these  highly-educated  young  gentlemen  turned  up 
their  sleeves  and  steeped  themselves  to  the  elbow  in  gore. 
Moreover,  they  did  it  with  a  certain  technical  skill  and  a 
distinct  sense  of  enjoyment.  Truly,  the  modern  English 
gentleman  is  a  strange  being.  There  is  nothing  his  soul 
takes  so  much  delight  in  as  the  process  of  getting  hot  and 
very  dirty,  and,  if  convenient,  somewhat  sanguinary.  You 
cannot  educate  the  manliness  out  of  him,  try  as  you  will ; 
and  for  such  blessings  let  us  in  all  humbleness  give  thanks 
to  Heaven. 

This  was  the  bringing  together  of  Jack  Meredith  and  Guy 
Oscard — two  men  who  loved  the  same  woman.  Tliey  knelt 
side  by  side,  and  Jack  Meredith — the  older  man,  the  accom- 
plished, gifted  gentleman  of  the  world,  who  stood  second 
to  none  in  that  varied  knowledge  required  nowadays  of  the 
successful  societarian — Jack  Meredith,  be  it  noted,  humbly 
dragged  the  skin  away  from  the  body  while  Guy  Oscard 
cut  the  clioofino:  integuments  with  a  delicate  touch  and 
finished  skill. 

They  laid  the  skin  out  on  the  trampled  maidenhair  and 
contemplated  it  with  silent  satisfaction.  In  the  course  of 
their  inspection  they  both  arrived  at  the  head  at  the  same 
moment.  The  two  holes  in  the  hide,  just  above  the  eyes, 
came  under  their  notice  at  the  same  moment,  and  they 
turned  and  smiled  gravely  at  each  other,  thinking  the  same 


86  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

thought — the  sort  of  thoughx  that  Englishmen  rarely  put 
into  intelligible  English. 

"  I'm  glad  we  did  that,"  said  Guy  Oscard  at  length ; 
suddenly,  "  Whatever  comes  of  this  expedition  of  ours — if 
we  fight  like  hell,  as  we  probably  shall,  before  it  is  finished 
— if  we  hate  each  other  ever  afterwards,  that  skin  ought  to 
remind  us  that  we  are  much  of  a  muchness." 

It  might  have  been  put  into  better  English ;  it  might  al- 
most have  sounded  like  poetry  had  Guy  Oscard  been  pos- 
sessed of  the  poetic  soul.  But  this,  fortunately,  was  not 
his;  and  all  that  might  have  been  said  was  left  to  the 
imagination  of  Meredith.  What  he  really  felt  was  that 
there  need  be  no  rivalry,  and  that  he  for  one  had  no 
thought  of  such ;  that  in  the  quest  which  they  were  about 
to  undertake  there  need  be  no  question  of  first  and  last ; 
that  they  were  merely  two  men,  good  or  bad,  competent  or 
incompetent,  but  through  all  equal. 

Neither  of  them  suspected  that  the  friendship  thus 
strangely  inaugurated  at  the  rifle's  mouth  was  to  run 
through  a  longer  period  than  the  few  months  required  to 
reach  the  plateau — that  it  was,  in  fact,  to  extend  through 
that  long  expedition  over  a  strange  country  that  we  call 
Life,  and  that  it  was  to  stand  the  greatest  test  that  friend- 
ship has  to  meet  with  here  on  earth. 

It  was  almost  dark  when  at  last  they  turned  to  go,  Jack 
Meredith  carrying  the  skin  over  his  shoulder  and  leading  the 
way.  There  was  no  opportunity  for  conversation,  as  their 
progress  was  necessarily  very  difficult.  Only  by  the  prattle 
of  the  stream  were  they  able  to  make  sure  of  keeping  in 
the  right  direction.  Each  had  a  thousand  questions  to  ask 
the  other.  They  were  total  strangers ;  but  it  is  not,  one 
finds,  by  conversation  that  men  get  to  know  each  other.  A 
common  danger,  a  common  pleasure,  a  common  pursuit — 
these  are  the  touches  of  nature  by  which  men  are  drawn 
together  into  the  kinship  of  mutual  esteem. 

Once  they  gained  the  banks  of  the  Ogowe  their  progress 


IN    BLACK    AND    WHITE  87 

was  quicker,  and  by  nine  o'clock  they  reached  the  camp  at 
Msala.  Victor  Dnrnovo  was  still  at  work  superintending 
the  discharge  of  the  bao-jracre  and  stores  from  the  larnje 
trading- canoes.  They  heard  the  shouting  and  chattering 
before  coming  in  sight  of  the  camp,  and  one  voice  raised 
angrily  above  the  others. 

"Is  that  Durnovo's  voice?"  asked  Meredith. 

"  Yes,"  answered  his  companion,  curtly. 

It  was  a  new  voice,  which  Meredith  had  not  heard  be- 
fore. When  they  shouted  to  announce  their  arrival  it  was 
suddenly  hushed,  aud  presently  Durnovo  came  forward  to 
greet  them. 

Meredith  hardly  knew  him,  he  was  so  much  stronger  and 
healthier  in  appearance.     Durnovo  shook  hands  heartily. 

"  No  need  to  introduce  you  two,"  he  said,  looking  from 
one  to  the  other. 

"  No ;  after  one  mistake  we  discovered  each  other's  iden- 
tity in  the  forest,"  answered  Meredith. 

Durnovo  smiled;  but  there  was  something  behind  the 
smile.  He  did  not  seem  to  approve  of  their  meeting  with- 
out his  intervention. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IN   BLACK    AND    WHITE 

"A  little  lurking  secret  of  the  blood, 
A  little  serpent  secret  rankling  keen." 

The  three  men  walked  up  towards  the  house  together. 
It  was  a  fair-sized  house,  with  a  heavy  thatched  roof  that 
overhung  the  walls  like  the  crown  of  a  mushroom.  The 
walls  were  only  mud,  and  the  thatching  was  nothing  else 
than  banana  leaves  ;  but  there  was  evidence  of  European 


88  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

taste  in  the  garden  surrounding  the  structure,  and  in  the 
glazed  windows  and  wooden  door. 

As  they  approached  the  open  doorway  three  little  chil- 
dren, clad  in  very  little  more  than  their  native  modesty,  ran 
gleefully  out,  and  proceeded  to  engage  seats  on  Jack  Mere- 
dith's boots,  looking  upon  him  as  a  mere  public  convey- 
ance. They  took  hardly  any  notice  of  him,  but  chattered 
and  quarrelled  among  themselves,  sometimes  in  baby  Eng- 
lish, sometimes  in  a  dialect  unknown  to  Oscard  and  Meredith. 
"  These,"  said  the  latter,  when  they  were  seated,  and 
clinging  with  their  little  dusky  arms  round  his  legs,  "are 
the  very  rummest  little  kids  I  ever  came  across." 

Durnovo  gave  an  impatient  laugh,  and  went  on  towards 
the  house.  But  Guy  Oscard  stopped,  and  walked  more 
slowlv  beside  Meredith,  as  he  labored  along  heavy-footed. 

"They  are  the  jolliest  little  souls  imaginable,"  continued 
Jack  Meredith.  "  There,"  he  said  to  them  when  they  had 
reached  the  door -step,  "run  away  to  your  mother — very 
fine  ride — no  !  no  more  to-night !  I'm  aweary — you  under- 
stand— aweary  !" 

"  Aweary — awe-e-e-ary  !"  repeated  the  little  things,  stand- 
ing before  him  in  infantile  nude  rotundity,  looking  up  with 
bright  eyes. 

"  Aweary — that  is  it.    Good-night,  Epaminondas — good- 
night, Xantippe !    Give  ye  good  hap,  most  stout  Nestorius !" 
He  stooped  and  gravely  shook  hands  with  each  one  in 
turn,  and,  after  forcing  a  like   ceremonial  upon  Guy  Os- 
card, they  reluctantly  withdrew. 

"They  have  not  joined  us,  I  suppose?"  said  Oscard,  as 
he  followed  his  companion  into  the  house. 

"  Not  yet.  They  live  in  this  place.  Nestorius,  I  under- 
stand, takes  care  of  his  mother,  who  in  her  turn  takes  care 
of  this  house.     He  is  one  and  a  half." 

Guy  Oscard  seemed  to  have  inherited  the  mind  inquisi- 
tive from  his  learned  father.  He  asked  another  question 
later  on. 


IN    BLACK    AND    WHITE  89 

"Who  is  that  woman?"  he  said,  during  dinner,  with  a 
little  nod  towards  the  doorway,  through  which  the  object  of 
liis  curiosity  had  passed  with  some  plates. 

"  That  is  the  mother  of  the  stout  Nestorius,"  answered 
Jack — "  Durnovo's  house-keeper." 

He  spoke  quietly,  looking  straight  in  front  of  him ;  and 
Joseph,  who  was  drawing  a  cork  at  the  back  of  the  room, 
was  watching  his  face. 

There  was  a  little  pause,  during  which  Durnovo  drank 
slowly.     Then  Guy  Oscard  spoke  again. 

"  If  she  cooked  the  dinner,"  he  said,  "  she  knows  her 
business." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Durnovo,  "  she  is  a  good  cook — if  she 
is  nothing  else." 

It  did  not  sound  as  if  further  inquiries  would  be  wel- 
come, and  so  the  subject  was  dropped  with  a  silent  tribute 
to  the  culinary  powers  of  Durnovo's  house-keeper  at  the 
Msala  Station. 

The  woman  had  only  appeared  for  a  moment,  bringing 
in  some  dishes  for  Joseph  —  a  tall,  stately  woman,  with 
great  dark  eyes,  in  which  the  patience  of  motherhood  had 
succeeded  to  the  soft  fire  of  West-Indian  love  and  youth. 
She  had  the  graceful,  slow  carriage  of  the  Creole,  although 
her  skin  was  darker  than  that  of  those  dangerous  sirens. 
That  Spanish  blood  ran  in  her  veins  could  be  seen  by  the 
intelligence  of  her  eyes;  for  there  is  an  intelligence  in 
Spanish  eyes  which  stands  apart.  In  the  men  it  seems  to 
refer  to  the  past  or  the  future,  for  their  incorrigible  leisure- 
liness  prevents  the  present  rendering  of  a  full  justice  to 
their  powers.  In  the  women  it  belongs  essentially  to  the 
present;  for  there  is  no  time  like  the  present  for  love  and 
other  things. 

"They  call  me,"  she  had  said  to  Jack  Meredith,  in  her 
soft,  mumbled  English,  a  fortnight  earlier — "  they  call  me 
Marie." 

The  children  he  had  named  after  his  own  fautasy,  and 


90  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

when  she  had  once  seen  him  with  them  there  was  a  notable 
change  in  her  manner.  Her  eyes  rested  on  him  with  a  sort 
of  wondering  attention,  and  when  she  cooked  his  meals  or 
touched  anything  that  was  his,  there  was  something  in  her 
attitude  that  denoted  a  special  care. 

Joseph  called  her  "  Missis,"  with  a  sort  of  friendliness  in 
his  voice,  which  never  rose  to  badinage  nor  descended  to 
familiarity. 

"  Seems  to  me,  missis,"  he  said,  on  the  third  evening 
after  the  arrival  of  the  advance  column,  "that  the  guv'nor 
takes  uncommon  kindly  to  them  little  uns  of  yours." 

They  were  washing  up  together  after  dinner  in  a  part  of 
the  garden  which  was  used  for  a  scullery,  and  Joseph  was 
enjoying  a  postprandial  pipe. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  simply,  following  the  direction  of 
Joseph's  glance.  Jack  Meredith  was  engaged  in  teaching 
Epaminondas  the  intellectual  game  of  bowls  with  a  rounded 
pebble  and  a  beer-bottle.  Nestorius,  whose  person  seemed 
more  distended  than  usual,  stood  gravely  by,  engaged  in 
dental  endeavors  on  a  cork,  while  Xantippe  joined  noisily 
in  the  game.  Their  lack  of  dress  was  essentially  native  to 
the  country,  while  their  mother  affected  a  simple  European 
style  of  costume. 

"  And,"  added  Joseph,  on  politeness  bent,  "  it  don't  sur- 
prise me.  I'm  wonderfully  fond  of  the  little  nig  —  nippers 
already.     I  am  —  straight." 

The  truth  was  that  the  position  of  this  grave  and  still 
comely  woman  was  ambiguous.  Neither  Joseph  nor  his 
master  called  her  by  the  name  she  had  offered  for  their  use. 
Joseph  compromised  by  the  universal  and  elastic  "Missis"; 
his  master  simply  avoided  all  names. 

Ambiguity  is  one  of  those  intangible  nothings  that  get 
into  the  atmosphere  and  have  a  trick  of  remaining  there. 
Marie  seemed  in  some  subtle  way  to  pervade  the  atmosphere 
of  Msala.  It  would  seem  that  Guy  Oscard,  in  his  thick- 
headed way,  was  conscious  of  this  mystery  in  the  air ;  for 


IN    BLACK    AND    WHITE  91 

he  had  not  been  two  hours  in  Msala  before  he  asked,  "  Wh<* 
is  that  woman?"  and  received  the  reply  which  has  been 
recorded. 

After  dinner  they  had  passed  out  onto  the  little  terrace  over- 
looking the  river,  and  it  was  here  that  the  great  Simiacine 
scheme  was  pieced  together.  It  was  here,  beneath  the  vast 
palm-trees  that  stood  like  two  beacons  towering  over  the 
surrounding  forest,  that  three  men  deliberately  staked  their 
own  lives  and  the  lives  of  others  against  a  fortune.  Nature 
has  a  strange  way  of  hiding  her  gifts.  Many  of  the  most 
precious  have  lain  unheeded  for  hundreds  of  years  in  barren 
plains,  on  inaccessible  mountains,  or  beneath  the  wave, 
while  others  are  thrown  at  the  feet  of  savages  who  know  no 
use  for  them. 

The  man  who  had  found  the  Simiacine  was  eager,  restless, 
full  of  suspicion.  To  the  others  the  scheme  obviously  pre- 
sented itself  in  a  different  light.  Jack  Meredith  was  dilet- 
tante, light-hearted,  and  unsatisfactory.  It  was  impossible 
to  arouse  any  enthusiasm  in  him  —  to  make  him  take  it 
seriously.  Guy  Oscard  was  gravely  indifferent.  He  wanted 
to  get  rid  of  a  certain  space  of  time,  and  the  African  forest, 
containing  as  it  did  the  only  excitement  that  his  large  heart 
knew,  was  as  good  a  place  as  any.  The  Simiacine  was,  in 
his  mind,  relegated  to  a  distant  place  behind  weeks  of  sport 
and  adventure  such  as  his  soul  loved.  He  scarcely  took 
Victor  Durnovo  au  pied  de  la  lettre.  Perhaps  he  knew  too 
much  about  him  for  that.  Certain  it  is  that  neither  of  the 
two  realized  at  that  moment  the  importance  of  the  step 
that  they  were  taking. 

"You  men,"  said  Durnovo,  eagerly,  "don't  seem  to  take 
the  thing  seriously." 

"  I,"  answered  Meredith,  "  intend,  at  all  events,  to  take 
the  profits  very  seriously.  When  they  begin  to  come  in,  J. 
Meredith  will  be  at  the  above  address,  and  trusts  by  a  care- 
ful attention  to  business  to  merit  a  continuance  of  yonr 
kind  patronage," 


92  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Durnovo  laughed  somewhat  nervously.  Oscard  did  not 
seem  to  hear. 

"  It  is  all  very  well  for  you,"  said  the  half-caste,  in  a 
lower  voice.  "  You  have  not  so  much  at  stake.  It  is  likely 
that  the  happiness  of  my  whole  life  depends  upon  this 
venture." 

A  curious  smile  passed  across  Jack  Meredith's  face. 
Without  turning  his  head,  he  glanced  sideways  into  Dur- 
novo's  face  through  the  gloom.  But  he  said  nothing,  and 
it  was  Oscard  who  broke  the  silence  by  saying,  simply : 

"  The  same  may  possibly  apply  to  me." 

There  was  a  little  pause,  during  which  he  lighted  his  pipe. 

"  To  a  certain  extent,"  he  said,  in  emendation.  "  Of 
course,  my  real  object,  as  you  no  doubt  know,  is  to  get 
away  from  England  until  my  father's  death  has  been  for- 
gotten.    My  own  conscience  is  quite  clear,  but — " 

Jack  Meredith  drew  in  his  legs  and  leaned  forward. 

"  But,"  he  said,  interrupting,  and  yet  not  interrupting — 
"but  the  public  mind  is  an  unclean  sink.  Everything  that 
goes  into  it  comes  out  taiuted.  Therefore,  it  is  best  only  to 
let  the  public  mind  have  the  scourings,  as  it  were,  of  one's 
existence.  If  they  get  anything  better  —  anything  more 
important — it  is  better  to  skedaddle  until  it  has  run  through 
and  been  swept  away  by  a  flow  of  social  garbage." 

Guy  Oscard  grunted  with  his  pipe  between  his  teeth, 
after  the  manner  of  the  stoic  American  Indian  —  a  grunt 
that  seemed  to  say,  "My  pale-faced  brother  has  spoken  well ; 
he  expresses  my  feelings."  Then  he  gave  further  vent  to 
the  deliberate  expansiveness  which  was  his. 

"  What  I  cannot  stand,"  he  said,  "  are  the  nudges  and 
the  nods  and  the  surreptitious  glances  of  the  silly  women 
who  think  that  one  cannot  see  them  looking.  I  hate  being 
pointed  out." 

"  Together  with  the  latest  skirt-dancing  girl  and  the  last 
female  society-detective,  with  the  blushing  honors  of  the 
witness-box  thick  upon  her,"  suggested  Jack  Meredith. 


IN   BLACK    AND    WHITE  93 

"  Yes,"  muttered  Guy.  He  turned  with  a  sort  of  simple 
wonder,  and  looked  at  Meredith  curiously.  He  had  never 
been  understood  so  quickly  before.  He  had  never  met 
man  or  woman  possessing  in  so  marked  a  degree  that  subtle 
power  of  going  right  inside  the  mind  of  another  and  feel- 
ing the  things  that  are  there — the  greatest  power  of  all — 
the  power  that  rules  the  world ;  and  it  is  only  called  Sym- 
pathy. 

"  Well,"  said  the  voice  of  Durnovo  through  the  darkness, 
"  I  don't  mind  admitting  that  all  I  want  is  the  money.  I 
want  to  get  out  of  this  confounded  country,  but  I  don't 
want  to  leave  till  I  have  made  a  fortune." 

The  subtle  influence  that  Meredith  wielded  seemed  to 
have  reached  him  too,  warming  into  expansiveness  his  hot 
Spanish  blood.     His  voice  was  full  of  confidence. 

"  Very  right  and  proper,"  said  Meredith.  "  Got  a  grudge 
against  the  country ;  make  the  country  pay  for  it,  in  cash." 

"  That's  what  I  intend  to  do ;  and  it  shall  pay  heavily. 
Then,  when  I've  got  the  money,  I'll  know  what  to  do  with 
it.  I  know  where  to  look,  and  I  do  not  think  that  I  shall 
look  in  vain." 

Guy  Oscard  shuffled  uneasily  in  his  camp-chair.  He  had 
an  Englishman's  horror  of  putting  into  speech  those  things 
which  we  all  think,  while  only  Frenchmen  and  Italians  say 
them.  The  Spaniards  are  not  so  bad,  and  Victor  Durnovo 
had  enough  of  their  blood  in  him  to  say  no  more. 

It  did  not  seem  to  occur  to  any  of  them  that  the  only 
person  whose  individuality  was  still  veiled  happened  to  be 
Jack  Meredith.  He  alone  had  said  nothing,  had  imparted 
no  confidence.  He  it  was  who  spake  first,  after  a  proper 
period  of  silence.  He  was  too  much  of  an  adept  to  betray 
haste,  and  thus  admit  his  debt  of  mutual  confidence. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  he  said,  "  that  we  have  all  the  techni- 
calities arranged  now.  So  far  as  the  working  of  the  expe- 
dition is  concerned,  we  know  our  places,  and  the  difficulties 
will  be  met  as  they  present  themselves.     But  there  is  one 


94  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

thing  which  I  think  we  should  set  in  order  now.  I  have 
been  thinking  about  it  while  I  have  been  waiting  here 
alone." 

The  glow  of  Victor  Durnovo's  cigar  died  away  as  if  in  his 
attention  he  was  forgetting  to  smoke ;  but  he  said  nothing. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  Jack  went  on,  "  that  before  we  leave 
here  we  should  draw  up  and  sign  a  sort  of  deed  of  partner- 
ship. Of  course,  we  trust  each  other  perfectly — there  is  no 
question  of  that.  But  life  is  an  uncertain  thing,  as  some 
earlier  philosopher  said  before  me;  and  one  never  knows 
what  may  happen.  I  have  drawn  up  a  paper  in  triplicate. 
If  you  have  a  match,  I  will  read  it  to  you." 

Oscard  produced  a  match,  and,  striking  it  on  his  boot, 
sheltered  it  with  the  hollow  of  his  hand  while  Jack  read : 

"  We,  the  undersigned,  hereby  enter  into  partnership  to 
search  for  and  sell,  to  our  mutual  profit,  the  herb  known  as 
Simiacine,  the  profits  to  be  divided  into  three  equal  portions, 
after  the  deduction  of  one-hundredth  part  to  be  handed  to 
the  servant,  Joseph  Atkinson.  Any  further  expenses  that 
may  be  incurred  to  be  borne  in  the  same  proportion  as  the 
original  expense  of  fitting  out  the  expedition — namely,  two- 
fifths  to  be  paid  by  Guy  Cravener  Oscard,  two-fifths  by  John 
Meredith,  one-fifth  by  Victor  Durnovo. 

"The  sum  of  fifty  pounds  per  month  to  be  paid  to  Vic- 
tor Durnovo,  wherewith  he  may  pay  the  thirty  special  men 
taken  from  his  estate  and  headquarters  at  Msala  to  cultivate 
the  Simiacine,  and  such  corn  and  vegetables  as  may  be  re- 
quired for  the  sustenance  of  the  expedition ;  these  men  to 
act  as  porters  until  the  plateau  be  reached. 

"  The  opinion  of  two  of  the  three  leaders  against  one  to 
be  accepted  unconditionally  in  all  questions  where  contro- 
versy may  arise.  In  case  of  death  each  of  us  undertakes 
hereby  to  hand  over  to  the  executor  of  the  dead  partner  or 
partners  such  moneys  as  shall  belong  to  him  or  them." 

At  this  juncture  there  was  a  little  pause,  while  Guy  Os- 
card lighted  a  second  match. 


PANIC-STRICKEN  95 

"And,"  continued  Jack,  "  we  hereby  undertake  severally, 
on  oath,  to  hold  the  secret  of  the  whereabouts  of  the  Simia- 
cine  a  strict  secret,  which  secret  may  not  be  revealed  by  any 
one  of  us  to  whomsoever  it  may  be  without  the  sanction,  in 
writing,  of  the  other  two  partners." 

"There,"  concluded  Jack  Meredith,  "  I  am  rather  pleased 
with  that  literary  production ;  it  is  forcible  and  yet  devoid 
of  violence.  I  feel  that  in  me  the  commerce  of  the  century 
has  lost  an  ornament.  Moreover,  I  am  ready  to  swear  to 
the  terms  of  the  agreement." 

There  was  a  little  pause.  Guy  Oscard  took  his  pipe  from 
his  mouth,  and  while  he  knocked  the  ashes  out  against  the 
leg  of  his  chair  he  mumbled,  "  I  swear  to  hold  to  that  agree- 
ment." 

Victor  Durnovo  took  off  his  hat  with  a  sweep  and  a 
flourish,  and,  raising  his  bared  brow  to  the  stars,  he  said : 
"  I  swear  to  hold  to  that  agreement.  If  I  fail,  may  God 
strike  me  dead !" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

PANIC-  STRICKEN 
"  Is  this  reason  ?     Is  this  humanity  ?     Alas  !  it  is  man." 

Tiie  next  morning  Jack  Meredith  was  awakened  by  his 
servant  Joseph  before  it  was  fully  light.  It  would  appear 
as  if  Joseph  had  taken  no  means  of  awakening  him,  for 
Meredith  awoke  quite  quietly  to  find  Joseph  standing  by 
bis  bed. 

"  Holloa !"  exclaimed  the  master,  fully  awake  at  once,  as 
townsmen  are. 

Joseph  stood  at  attention  by  the  bedside. 

"  Woke  you  before  yer  time,  sir,"  he  said.  "  There's 
something  wrong  among  these  'ere  darky  fellers,  sir." 


96  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  Wrong !     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

Meredith  was  already  lacing  his  shoes. 

"  Not  rebellion  ?"  he  said,  curtly,  looking  towards  his 
fire-arms. 

"  No,  sir,  not  that.  It's  some  mortual  sickness.  I  don't 
know  what  it  is.  I've  been  up  half  the  night  with  them. 
It's  spreading,  too." 

"  Sickness !  what  does  it  seem  like  ?  Just  give  me  that 
jacket.     Not  that  sleeping  sickness  ?" 

"  No,  sir.  It's  not  that.  Missis  Marie  was  telling  me 
about  that  —  awful  scourge  that,  sir.  No,  the  poor  chaps 
are  wide  awake  enough.  Groanin',  and  off  their  heads  too, 
mostly." 

"  Have  you  called  Mr.  Oscard  ?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Call  him  and  Mr.  Durnovo." 

"  Met  Mr.  Durnovo,  sir,  goin'  out  as  I  came  in." 

In  a  few  moments  Jack  joined  Durnovo  and  Oscard,  who 
were  talking  together  on  the  terrace  in  front  of  the  house. 
Guy  Oscard  was  still  in  his  pyjamas,  which  he  had  tucked 
into  top-boots.  He  also  wore  a  sun-helmet,  which  added 
a  finish  to  his  costume.  They  got  quite  accustomed  to 
this  get-up  during  the  next  three  days,  for  he  never  had 
time  to  change  it;  and,  somehow,  it  ceased  to  be  humorous 
long  before  the  end  of  that  time. 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing,"  Durnovo  was  saying,  with  a  singular 
eagerness.  "  I  know  these  chaps.  They  have  been  paid  in 
advance.  They  are  probably  shamming,  and  if  they  are 
not  they  are  only  suffering  from  the  effects  of  a  farewell 
glorification.  They  want  to  delay  our  start.  That  is  their 
little  game.    It  will  give  them  a  better  chance  of  deserting." 

"  At  any  rate,  we  had  better  go  and  see  them,"  suggested 
Jack. 

"No,  don't  1"  cried  Durnovo,  eagerly,  detaining  him  with 
both  hands.  "  Take  my  advice,  and  don't.  Just  have 
breakfast  in  the  ordinary  way,  and  pretend  there  is  nothing 


PANIC-STRICKEN  97 

wrong.     Then  afterwards  you  can  lounge  casually  into  the 
camp." 

"All  right,"  said  Jack,  rather  unwillingly. 

"  It  has  been  of  some  use  —  this  scare,"  said  Durnovo, 
turning  and  looking  towards  the  river.  "  It  has  reminded 
me  of  something.  We  have  not  nearly  enough  quinine. 
I  will  just  take  a  quick  canoe,  and  run  down  to  Loango  to 
fetch  some." 

He  turned  quite  away  from  them,  and  stooped  to  attach 
the  lace  of  his  boot. 

"  I  can  travel  night  and  day,  and  be  back  here  in  three 
days,"  he  added.  "  In  the  meantime  you  can  be  getting  on 
with  the  loading  of  the  canoes,  and  we  will  start  as  soon  as 
I  get  back." 

He  stood  upright  and  looked  around  with  weather-wise, 
furtive  eyes. 

"  Seems  to  me,"  he  said,  "  there's  thunder  coming.  I 
think  I  had  better  be  off  at  once." 

In  the  course  of  his  inspection  of  the  lowering  clouds 
which  hung,  black  as  ink,  just  above  the  trees,  his  eyes 
lighted  on  Joseph,  standing  within  the  door  of  the  cottage, 
watching  him  with  a  singular  half-suppressed  smile. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  hurriedly,  "  I  will  start  at  once.  I  can 
eat  some  sort  of  a  breakfast  when  we  are  under  way." 

He  looked  beneath  his  lashes  quickly  from  Jack  to  Guy 
and  back  again.  Their  silent  acquiescence  was  not  quite 
satisfactory.  Then  he  called  his  own  men,  and  spoke  to 
them  in  a  tongue  unknown  to  the  Eno-Hshmen.  He  hurried 
forward  their  preparations  with  a  feverish  irritability  which 
made  Jack  Meredith  think  of  the  first  time  he  had  ever 
seen  Durnovo — a  few  miles  farther  down  the  river — all 
palpitating  and  trembling  with  climatic  nervousness.  His 
face  was  quite  yellow,  and  there  was  a  line  drawn  diagonally 
from  the  nostrils  down  each  cheek,  to  lose  itself  ultimately 
in  the  heavy  black  mustache. 

Before  he  stepped  into  his  canoe  the  thunder  was  rum- 


98  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

bling  in  the  distance,  and  the  air  was  still  as  death.  Breath- 
ing was  an  effort ;  the  inhaled  air  did  not  satisfy  the  lungs, 
and  seemed  powerless  to  expand  them. 

Overhead  the  clouds,  of  a  blue-black  intensity,  seemed 
almost  to  touch  the  trees ;  the  river  was  of  ink.  The  row- 
ers said  nothing,  but  they  lingered  on  the  bank  and  watched 
Durnovo's  face  anxiously.  When  he  took  his  seat  in  the 
canoe  they  looked  protestingly  up  to  the  sky.  Durnovo 
said  something  to  them  rapidly,  and  they  laid  their  paddles 
to  the  water. 

Scarcely  had  the  boat  disappeared  in  the  bend  of  the 
river  before  the  rain  broke.  It  came  with  the  rush  of  an 
express  train — the  trees  bending  before  the  squall  like  reeds. 
The  face  of  the  river  was  tormented  into  a  white  fury  by 
the  drops  which  splashed  up  again  a  foot  in  height.  The 
lashing  of  the  water  on  the  bare  backs  of  the  negroes  was 
distinctly  audible  to  Victor  Durnovo. 

Then  the  black  clouds  split  up  like  a  rent  cloth,  and 
showed  behind  them,  not  heaven,  but  the  living  fire  of  hell. 
The  thunder  crashed  out  in  sharp  reports  like  file-firing  at 
a  review,  and  with  one  accord  the  men  ceased  rowing  and 
crouched  down  in  the  canoe. 

Durnovo  shouted  to  them,  his  face  livid  with  fury.  But 
for  some  moments  his  voice  was  quite  lost.  The  lightning 
ran  over  the  face  of  the  river  like  will-o'-the-wisps ;  the 
whole  heaven  was  streaked  continuously  with  it. 

Suddenly  the  negroes  leaped  to  their  paddles  and  rowed 
with  bent  backs  and  wild,  staring  eyes,  as  if  possessed. 
They  were  covered  by  the  muzzle  of  Durnovo's  revolver. 

Behind  the  evil  -  looking  barrel  of  blue  steel  the  half- 
caste's  dripping  face  looked  forth,  peering  into  the  terrific 
storm.  There  was  no  question  of  fending  off  such  torrents 
of  rain,  nor  did  be  attempt  it.  Indeed,  he  seemed  to  court 
its  downfall.  He  held  out  his  arms  and  stretched  forth  his 
legs,  giving  free  play  to  the  water  which  ran  off  him  in  a 
continual  stream,  washing  his  thin  khaki  clothing  on  his 


PANIO-STKICKEN  99 

limbs.  He  raised  bis  face  to  tbe  sky,  and  let  tbe  water 
beat  upon  his  brow  and  hair. 

The  roar  of  the  thunder,  which  could  be  felt,  so  great  was 
the  vibration  of  the  laden  air,  seemed  to  have  no  fear  for 
him.  The  lightning,  ever  shooting  athwart  the  sky,  made 
him  blink  as  if  dazzled,  but  he  looked  upon  it  without 
emotion. 

He  knew  that  behind  him  he  had  left  a  greater  danger 
than  this,  and  he  stretched  out  his  limbs  to  the  cleansing 
torrent  with  an  exulting  relief  to  be  washed  from  the  dread 
infection.  Small -pox  had  laid  its  hand  on  the  camp  at 
Msala ;  and  from  the  curse  of  it  Victor  Durnovo  was  flying 
in  a  mad,  chattering  panic  through  all  the  anger  of  the 
tropic  elements,  holding  Death  over  his  half-stunned  crew, 
not  daring  to  look  behind  him  or  pause  in  his  coward's 
flight. 

It  is  still  said  on  the  Ogowe  River  that  no  man  travels 
like  Victor  Durnovo.  Certain  it  is  that,  in  twenty-seven 
hours  from  the  time  that  he  left  Msala  on  the  morning  of 
the  great  storm,  he  presented  himself  before  Maurice  Gor- 
don in  his  office  at  the  factory  at  Loango. 

"  Ah  !"  cried  Gordon,  hardly  noticing  the  washed-out,  har- 
assed appearance  of  his  visitor ;  "  here  you  are  again.  I 
heard  that  the  great  expedition  had  started." 

"  So  it  has,  but  I  have  come  back  to  get  one  or  two 
things  we  have  forgotten.     Got  any  sherry  handy  ?" 

"Of  course,"  replied  Gordon,  with  perfect  adhesion  to  the 
truth. 

He  laid  aside  his  pen,  and,  turning  in  his  chair,  drew  a 
decanter  from  a  small  cupboard,  which  stood  on  the  ground 
at  his  side. 

"  Here  you  are,"  he  continued,  pouring  out  a  full  glass 
with  practised,  but  slightly  unsteady,  hand. 

Durnovo  drank  the  wine  at  one  gulp  and  set  the  glass 
down. 

"Ah  I"  he  said,  "  that  does  a  chap  good." 


100  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  Does  it  now  ?"  exclaimed  Maurice  Gordon,  with  mock 
surprise.     "  Well,  I'll  just  try." 

The  manner  in  which  he  emptied  his  glass  was  quite  dif- 
ferent, with  a  long,  slow  drawing-out  of  the  enjoyment,  full 
of  significance  for  the  initiated. 

"Will  you  be  at  home  to-night?"  asked  Durnovo,  gently 
pushing  aside  the  hospitable  decanter.  "  I  have  got  a  lot 
of  work  to  do  to-day,  but  I  should  like  to  run  in  and  see 
you  this  evening." 

"  Yes,  come  and  dine." 

Durnovo  shook  his  head  and  looked  down  at  his  wrinkled 
and  draggled  clothing. 

"  No,  I  can't  do  that,  old  man.     Not  in  this  trim." 

"Bosh  !     What  matter?     Jocelyn  doesn't  mind." 

"  No,  but  I  do." 

It  was  obvious  that  he  wanted  to  accept  the  invitation, 
although  the  objection  he  raised  was  probably  honest.  For 
that  taint  in  the  blood  that  cometh  from  the  subtle  tar-brush 
brings  with  it  a  vanity  that  has  its  equal  in  no  white  man's 
heart. 

"  Well,  I'll  lend  you  a  black  coat!    Seven  o'clock  sharp  !" 

Durnovo  hurried  away  with  a  gleam  of  excitement  in  his 
dark  eyes. 

Maurice  Gordon  did  not  resume  his  work  at  once.  He 
sat  for  some  time  idly  drumming  with  his  fingers  on  the 
desk. 

"  If  I  can  only  get  her  to  be  civil  to  him,"  he  reflected 
aloud,  "  I'll  get  into  this  business  yet." 

At  seven  o'clock  Durnovo  appeared  at  the  Gordons'  house. 
He  had  managed  to  borrow  a  dress-suit,  and  wore  an  orchid 
in  his  button-hole.  It  was  probably  the  first  time  that  Joce- 
lyn had  seen  him  in  this  garb  of  civilization,  which  is  at  the 
same  time  the  most  becoming  and  the  most  trying  variety 
of  costume  left  to  sensible  men  in  these  days.  A  dress-suit 
finds  a  man  out  sooner  than  anything  except  speech. 

Jocelyn  was  civil  in  her  reception  — more  so,  indeed,  than 


PANIC-STKICKEN  101 

Maurice  Gordon  had  hoped  for.  She  seemed  almost  glad 
to  see  Durnovo,  and  evinced  quite  a  kindly  interest  in  his 
movements.  Durnovo  attributed  this  to  the  dress-suit,  while 
Maurice  concluded  that  his  obvious  hints,  thrown  out  before 
dinner,  had  fallen  on  fruitful  ground. 

At  dinner  Victor  Durnovo  was  quite  charmed  with  the 
interest  that  Jocelyn  took  in  the  expedition,  of  which,  he 
gave  it  to  be  understood,  he  was  the  chief.  So  also  was 
Maurice,  because  Durnovo's  evident  admiration  of  Jocelyn 
somewhat  overcame  his  natural  secrecy  of  character. 

"  You'll  hear  of  me,  Miss  Gordon,  never  fear,  before  three 
months  are  past,"  said  Durnovo,  in  reply  to  a  vague  sugges- 
tion that  his  absence  might  extend  to  several  months.  "  I 
am  not  the  sort  of  man  to  come  to  grief  by  a  foolish  mis- 
take or  any  unnecessary  risk." 

To  which  sentiment  two  men  at  Msala  bore  generous  testi- 
mony later  on. 

The  simple  dinner  was  almost  at  an  end,  and  it  was  at 
this  time  that  Jocelyn  Gordon  began  once  more  to  dislike 
Durnovo.  At  first  she  had  felt  drawn  towards  him.  Al- 
though he  wore  the  dress-clothes  rather  awkwardly,  there 
was  something  in  his  manner  which  reminded  her  vaguely 
of  a  gentleman.  It  was  not  that  he  was  exactly  gentlemanly, 
but  there  was  the  reflection  of  good-breeding  in  his  bearing. 
Dark-skinned  people,  be  it  noted,  have  usually  the  imitative 
faculty.  As  the  dinner  and  the  wine  warmed  his  heart,  so 
by  degrees  he  drew  on  his  old  self  like  a  glove.  He  grew 
bolder  and  less  guarded.  His  own  opinion  of  himself  rose 
momentarily,  and  with  it  a  certain  gleam  in  his  eyes  in- 
creased as  they  rested  on  Jocelyn. 

It  was  not  long  before  she  noted  this,  and  quite  suddenly 
her  ancient  dislike  of  the  man  was  up  in  arms  with  a  new 
intensity  gathered  she  knew  not  whence. 

"  And,"  said  Maurice,  when  Jocelyn  had  left  them,  "  I 
suppose  you'll  be  a  millionaire  in  about  six  months?" 

He  gently  pushed  the  wine  towards  him  at  the  same  time. 


102  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Durnovo  bad  not  slept  for  forty  hours.  The  excitement  of  bis 
escape  from  the  plague-ridden  camp  bad  scarcely  subsided. 
The  glitter  of  the  silver  on  the  table,  the  shaded  candles, 
the  subtle  sensuality  of  refinement  and  daintiness  appealed 
to  bis  hot-blooded  nature.  He  was  a  little  off  bis  feet  per- 
haps. He  took  the  decanter  and  put  it  to  the  worst  use  he 
could  have  selected. 

"  Not  so  soon  as  that,"  he  said ;  "  but  in  time — in  time." 

"  Lucky  beggar !"  muttered  Maurice  Gordon,  with  a  little 
sigh. 

"  I  don't  mind  telling  you,"  said  Durnovo,  with  a  sudden 
confidence  begotten  of  Madeira,  "  that  it's  Simiacine — that's 
what  it  is.     I  can't  tell  you  more." 

"  Simiacine,"  repeated  Gordon,  fingering  the  stem  of  his 
wineglass  and  looking  at  him  keenly  between  the  candle- 
shades.  "Yes.  You've  always  been  on  its  track,  haven't 
you  ?" 

"  In  six  months  your  go-downs  will  be  full  of  it — my 
Simiacine,  my  Simiacine." 

"  By  God,  I  wish  I  had  a  hand  in  it !" 

Maurice  Gordon  pushed  the  decanter  again — gently,  al- 
most surreptitiously. 

"Aud  so  you  may,  some  day.  You  help  me  and  I'll 
help  you — that  is  my  ticket.  Reciprocity — reciprocity,  my 
dear  Maurice." 

"Yes,  but  how?" 

"  Can't  tell  you  now,  but  I  will  in  good  time — in  my 
own  time.     Come,  let's  join  the  ladies — eh  ?  ha,  ha  1" 

But  at  this  moment  the  servant  brought  in  coffee,  saying 
in  his  master's  ear  that  Miss  Jocelyn  had  gone  to  bed  with 
a  slight  headache. 


CHAPTER   XV 


A     CONFIDENCE 


"The  spirits 
Of  coming  things  stride  on  before  their  issues." 

There  is  nothing  that  brings  men  so  close  to  each  other 
as  a  common  grievance  or  a  common  danger.  Men  who 
fiud  pleasure  in  the  same  game  or  the  same  pursuit  are 
drawn  together  by  a  common  taste ;  but  in  the  indulgence 
of  it  there  is  sure  to  arise,  sooner  or  later,  a  spirit  of  compe- 
tition. Now,  this  spirit,  which  is  in  most  human  affairs,  is 
a  new  bond  of  union  when  men  are  fighting  side  by  side 
against  a  common  foe. 

During  the  three  days  that  followed  Durnovo's  departure 
from  Msala,  Jack  Meredith  and  Oscard  learned  to  know  each 
other.  These  three  days  were  as  severe  a  test  as  could  well 
be  found ;  for  courage,  humanity,  tenderness,  loyalty,  were 
by  turns  called  forth  by  circumstance.  Small-pox  rages  in 
Africa  as  it  rages  nowhere  else  in  these  days.  The  natives 
fight  it  or  bow  before  it  as  before  an  ancient  and  deeply- 
dreaded  foe.  It  was  nothing  new  to  them ;  and  it  would 
have  been  easy  enough  for  Jack  and  Oscard  to  prove  to  their 
own  satisfaction  that  the  presence  of  three  white  men  at 
Msala  was  a  danger  to  themselves  and  no  advantage  to  the 
natives.  It  would  have  been  very  simple  to  abandon  the 
river  station,  leaving  there  such  men  as  were  stricken  down 
to  care  for  each  other.  But  such  a  thought  never  seemed 
to  suggest  itself. 

The  camp  was  moved  across  the  river,  where  all  who 
seemed  strong  and  healthy  were  placed  under  canvas,  await- 
ing further  developments. 


104  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

The  infected  were  carried  to  a  special  camp  set  apart  and 
guarded,  and  this  work  was  executed  almost  entirely  by  the 
three  Englishmen,  aided  by  a  few  natives  who  had  had  the 
disease. 

For  three  days  these  men  went  about  with  their  lives  lit- 
erally in  their  hands,  tending  the  sick,  cheering  the  despon- 
dent, frightening  the  cowards  into  some  semblance  of  self- 
respect  and  dignity.  And  during  these  three  days,  wherein 
they  never  took  an  organized  meal  or  three  consecutive 
hours  of  rest,  Joseph,  Meredith,  and  Oscard  rose  together  to 
that  height  of  manhood  where  master  and  servant,  educated 
man  and  common  soldier,  stand  equal  before  their  Maker. 

Owing  to  the  promptness  with  which  measures  had  been 
taken  for  isolating  the  affected,  the  terrible  sickness  did  not 
spread.  In  all  eleven  men  were  stricken,  and  of  these  ten 
died  within  three  days.  The  eleventh  recovered,  but  event- 
ually remained  at  Msala. 

It  was  only  on  the  evening  of  the  third  day  that  Jack 
and  Guy  found  time  to  talk  of  the  future.  They  had  never 
left  Durnovo' s  house,  and  on  this  third  day  they  found  time 
to  dine  together. 

"  Do  you  think,"  Oscard  asked,  bluntly,  when  they  were 
left  alone  to  smoke,  "that  Durnovo  spotted  what  was  the 
matter  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  that  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  it," 
replied  Jack,  lightly. 

"  And  bolted  ?"  suggested  Oscard. 

"  And  bolted." 

Guy  Oscard  gave  a  contemptuous  little  laugh,  which  had 
a  deeper  insult  in  it  than  he  could  have  put  into  words. 

"  And  what  is  to  be  done?"  he  inquired. 

"  Nothing.  People  in  books  would  mount  on  a  very 
high  pinnacle  of  virtue  and  cast  off  Mr.  Durnovo  and  all  his 
works ;  but  it  is  much  more  practical  to  make  what  use  we 
can  of  him.  That  is  a  worldly-wise,  nineteenth  -  century 
way  of  looking  at  it ;  we  cannot  do  without  him." 


A    CONFIDENCE  105 

The  contemplativeness  of  nicotine  was  upon  Guv  Oscard. 

"Uraph  !"  he  grunted.  "  It  is  rather  disgusting,"  he  said, 
after  a  pause;   "I  hate  dealing  with  cowards." 

"  And  I  with  fools.  For  every-day  use,  give  me  a  cow- 
ard by  preference." 

"  Yes,  there  is  something  in  that.    Still,  I'd  throw  up  the 

whole  thing  if — " 

--'  So  would  I,"  said  Jack,  turning  sharply  in  his  chair, 
"  if_» 

Oscard  laughed  curtly  and  waited. 

"  If,"  continued  Jack,  "  I  could.  But  I  am  more  or  less 
bound  to  go  on  now.  Such  chances  as  this  do  not  turn  up 
every  day ;  I  cannot  afford  to  let  it  go  by.  Truth  is,  I  told 
— some  one  who  shall  be  nameless  —  that  I  would  make 
money  to  keep  her  in  that  state  of  life  wherein  her  god- 
fathers, etc.,  have  placed  her;  and  make  that  money  I  must." 

"That's  about  my  size,  too,"  said  Guy  Oscard,  somewhat 
indistinctly,  owing  to  the  fact  that  he  habitually  smoked  a 
thick-stemmed  pipe. 

"  Is  it?  I'm  glad  of  that.  It  gives  us  something  in  com- 
mon to  work  for." 

"Yes."  Guy  paused,  and  made  a  huge  effort,  finally 
conquering  that  taciturnity  which  was  almost  an  affliction 
to  him.  "  The  reason  I  gave  the  other  night  to  you  and 
that  chap  Durnovo  was  honest  enough,  but  I  have  another. 
I  want  to  lie  low  for  a  few  months,  but  I  also  want  to 
make  money.  I'm  as  good  as  engaged  to  be  married,  and 
I  find  that  I  am  not  so  well  off  as  I  thought  I  was.  Peo- 
pie  told  me  that  I  should  have  three  thousand  a  year  when 
the  guv'nor  died,  but  I  find  that  people  know  less  of  my 
affairs  than  I  thought." 

"  They  invariably  do,"  put  in  Jack,  encouragingly. 

"  It  is  barely  two  thousand,  and  —  and  she  has  been 
brought  up  to  something  better  than  that." 

"  Urn  !  they  mostly  are.  Mine  has  been  brought  up  to 
something  better  than  that,  too.     That  is  the  worst  of  it." 


106  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Jack  Meredith  leaned  back  in  bis  folding-chair,  and  gazed 
practically  up  into  the  heavens. 

"  Of  course,"  Guy  went  on,  doggedly  expansive  now  that 
he  had  once  plunged,  "  two  thousand  a  year  sounds  pretty 
good,  and  it  is  not  bad  to  start  upon.  But  there  is  no 
chance  of  its  increasing ;  in  fact,  the  lawyer  fellows  say  it 
may  diminish.  I  know  of  no  other  way  to  make  money — 
had  no  sort  of  training  for  it.  I'm  not  of  a  commercial 
turn  of  mind.  Fellows  go  into  the  City  and  brew  beer  or 
float  companies,  whatever  that  may  be." 

"It  means  they  sink  other  people's  funds,"  explained 
Jack. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  does.  The  guv'nor,  y'  know,  never 
taught  me  how  to  make  a  livelihood ;  wouldn't  let  me  be  a 
soldier ;  sent  me  to  college,  and  all  that ;  wanted  me  to  be 
a  litterateur.     Now,  I'm  not  literary." 

"  No,  I  shouldn't  think  you  were." 

"  Remains  Africa.  I  am  not  a  clever  chap  like  you,  Mere- 
dith." 

"  For  which  you  may  thank  a  gracious  Providence,"  in- 
terposed Jack.  "  Chaps  like  me  are  what  some  people  call 
'  fools '  in  their  uncouth  way." 

"But  I  know  a  little  about  Africa,  and  I  know  some- 
thing about  Durnovo.  That  man  has  got  a  mania,  and  it 
is  called  Simiacine.  He  is  quite  straight  upon  that  point, 
whatever  he  may  be  upon  others.  He  knows  this  country, 
and  he  is  not  making  any  mistake  about  the  Simiacine, 
whatever — " 

"  His  powers  of  sick-nursing  may  be,"  suggested  Jack. 

"  Yes,  that's  it.     We'll  put  it  that  way  if  you  like." 

"  Thanks,  I  do  prefer  it.  Any  fool  could  call  a  spade  a 
spade.  The  natural  ambition  would  be  to  find  something 
more  flowery  and  yet  equally  descriptive." 

Guy  Oscard  subsided  into  a  monosyllabic  sound. 

"  I  believe  implicitly  in  this  scheme,"  he  went  on,  after  a 
pause.     "  It  is  a  certain  fact  that  the  men  who  can  supply 


A    CONFIDENCE  107 

pure  Simiacinc  have  only  to  name  their  price  for  it.  They 
will  make  a  fortune,  and  I  believe  that  Dumovo  knows 
where  it  is  growing  in  quantities." 

"  I  cannot  see  how  it  would  pay  him  to  deceive  us  in  the 
matter.  That  is  the  best  way  of  looking  at  it,"  murmured 
Jack,  reflectively.  "  When  I  first  met  him  the  man  thought 
he  was  dying,  and  for  the  time  I  really  believe  that  he  was 
honest.  Some  men  are  honest  when  they  feel  unwell. 
There  was  so  little  doubt  in  my  mind  that  I  went  into  the 
thing  at  once." 

"  If  you  will  go  on  with  it  I  will  stand  by  you,"  said 
Oscard,  shortly. 

"  All  right ;  I  think  we  two  together  are  as  good  as  any 
half-bred  sharper  on  this  coast,  to  put  it  gracefully." 

Jack  Meredith  lighted  a  fresh  cigarette,  and  leaned  back 
with  the  somewhat  exaggerated  grace  of  movement  which 
was  in  reality  partly  attributable  to  natural  litheness.  For 
some  time  they  smoked  in  silence,  subject  to  the  influence 
of  the  dreamy  tropic  night.  Across  the  river  some  belated 
bird  was  calling  continuously  and  cautiously  for  its  mate. 
At  times  the  splashing  movements  of  a  crocodile  broke  the 
smooth  silence  of  the  water.  Overhead  the  air  was  lumi- 
nous with  that  night-glow  which  never  speaks  to  the  senses 
in  latitudes  above  the  teens. 

There  is  something  in  man's  nature  that  inclines  him 
sympathetically  —  almost  respectfully  —  towards  a  mental 
inferior.  Moreover,  the  feeling,  whatever  it  may  be,  is 
rarely,  if  ever,  found  in  women.  A  man  does  not  openly 
triumph  in  victory,  as  do  women.  One  sees  an  easy  victor 
— at  lawn-tennis,  for  instance — go  to  his  vanquished  foe, 
wiping  vigorously  a  brow  that  is  scarcely  damp,  and  explain- 
ing more  or  less  lamely  how  it  came  about.  But  the  same 
rarely  happens  in  the  "  ladies'  singles."  What,  to  quote 
another  instance,  is  more  profound  than  the  contempt  be- 
stowed by  the  girl  with  the  good  figure  upon  her  who  has 
no  figure  at  all  ?    Without  claiming  the  virtue  of  a  greater 


108  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

generosity  for  the  sex,  one  may,  perhaps,  assume  that  men 
learn  by  experience  the  danger  of  despising  any  man.  The 
girl  with  the  good  figure  is  sometimes — nay,  often — found 
blooming  alone  in  her  superiority,  while  the  despised  com- 
petitor is  a  happy  mother  of  children.  And  all  this  to  ex- 
plain that  Jack  Meredith  felt  drawn  towards  his  great 
hulking  companion  by  something  that  was  not  a  mere  respect 
of  mind  for  matter. 

As  love  is  inexplicable,  so  is  friendship.  No  man  can 
explain  why  Saul  held  Jonathan  in  such  high  esteem. 
Between  men  it  would  appear  that  admiration  is  no  part  of 
friendship.  And  such  as  have  the  patience  to  follow  the 
lives  of  the  two  Englishmen  thus  brought  together  by  a 
series  of  chances  will  perhaps  be  able  to  discover  in  this 
record  of  a  great  scheme  the  reason  why  Jack  Meredith, 
the  brilliant,  the  gifted,  should  bestow  upon  Guy  Oscard 
such  a  wealth  of  love  and  esteem  as  he  never  received  in 
return. 

During  the  silence  Jack  was  apparently  meditating  over 
the  debt  of  confidence  which  he  still  owed  to  his  com- 
panion ;  for  he  spoke  first,  and  spoke  seriously,  about  him- 
self, which  was  somewhat  against  his  habit. 

"  I  dare  say  you  have  heard,"  he  said,  "  that  I  had  a — a 
disagreement  with  my  father." 

"  Yes.  Heard  something  about  it,"  replied  Oscard,  in  a 
tone  which  seemed  to  imply  that  the  "  something  "  was  quite 
sufficient  for  his  requirements. 

"  It  was  about  my  engagement,"  Jack  went  on,  deliber- 
ately. "  I  do  not  know  how  it  was,  but  they  did  not  hit  it 
off  together.  She  was  too  honest  to  throw  herself  at  his 
head,  I  suppose ;  for  I  imagine  a  pretty  girl  can  usually 
do  what  she  likes  with  an  old  man  if  she  takes  the 
trouble." 

"  Not  with  him,  I  think.  Seemed  to  be  rather  down  on 
girls  in  general,"  said  Oscard,  coolly. 

"  Then  you  know  him  I" 


A    CONFIDENCE  109 

"  Yes,  a  little.  I  have  met  him  once  or  twice,  out,  you 
know.  I  don't  suppose  he  would  know  me  again  if  he  saw 
me." 

Which  last  remark  does  not  redound  to  the  credit  of 
Guy's  powers  of  observation. 

They  paused.  It  is  wonderful  how  near  we  may  stand 
to  the  brink  and  look  far  away  beyond  the  chasm.  Years 
afterwards  they  remembered  this  conversation,  and  it  is 
possible  that  Jack  Meredith  wondered  then  what  instinct 
it  was  that  made  him  change  the  direction  of  their  thoughts. 

"  If  it  is  agreeable  to  you,"  he  said,  "  I  think  it  would  be 
wise  for  me  to  go  down  to  Loango,  and  gently  intimate  to 
Durnovo  that  we  should  be  glad  of  his  services." 

"  Certainly." 

"  He  cannot  be  buying  quinine  all  this  time,  you  know. 
He  said  he  would  travel  night  and  day." 

Oscard  nodded  gravely. 

"  How  will  you  put  it?"  he  asked. 

"  I  thought  I  would  simply  say  that  his  non-arrival  caused 
us  some  anxiety,  and  that  I  had  come  down  to  see  if  any- 
thing was  wrong." 

Jack  rose  and  threw  away  the  end  of  his  cigarette.  It 
was  quite  late,  and  across  the  river  the  gleam  of  the 
moonlight  on  fixed  bayonets  told  that  only  the  sentries 
were  astir. 

"  And  what  about  the  small-pox  ?"  pursued  Oscard,  more 
with  the  desire  to  learn  than  to  amend. 

"  Don't  think  I  shall  say  anything  about  that.  The  man 
wants  careful  handling." 

"  You  will  have  to  tell  him  that  we  have  got  it  under." 

"  Yes,  I'll  do  that.  Good-night,  old  fellow ;  I  shall  be  off 
by  daylight." 

By  seven  o'clock  the  next  morning  the  eanoe  was  ready, 
with  its  swarthy  rowers  in  their  places.  The  two  English- 
men breakfasted  together,  and  then  walked  down  to  the 
landing-stage  side  by  side. 


110  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

It  was  raining  steadily,  and  the  atmosphere  had  that  sin- 
gular  feeling  of  total  relaxation  and  limpness  which  is  only 
to  be  felt  in  the  rain-ridden  districts  of  Central  Africa. 

"Take  care  of  yourself,"  said  Oscard,  gruffly,  as  Jack 
stepped  into  the  canoe. 

"  All  right." 

"  And  bring  back  Durnovo  with  you." 

Jack  Meredith  looked  up  with  a  vague  smile. 

"That  man,"  he  said,  lightly,  "is  going  to  the  plateau  if 
I  have  to  drag  him  there  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck." 

And  he  believed  that  he  was  thinking  of  the  expedition 
only. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

WAR 

"  Who,  when  they  slash  and  cut  to  pieces, 
Do  so  with  civilest  addresses." 

There  is  no  power  so  subtle  and  so  strong  as  that  of  asso- 
ciation. We  have  learned  to  associate  mustard  with  beef, 
and  therefore  mustard  shall  be  eaten  with  beef  until  the  day 
wherein  the  lion  shall  lie  down  with  the  lamb. 

Miss  Millicent  Chyne  became  aware,  as  the  year  advanced 
towards  the  sere  and  yellow  age,  that  in  opposing  her  way- 
ward will  in  single  combat  against  a  simple  little  association 
in  the  public  mind  she  was  undertaking  a  somewhat  hercu- 
lean task. 

Society  —  itself  an  association  —  is  the  slave  of  a  word, 
and  society  had  acquired  the  habit  of  coupling  the  names 
of  Sir  John  Meredith  and  Lady  Cantourne.  They  belonged 
to  the  same  generation ;  they  had  similar  tastes ;  they  were 
both  of  some  considerable  power  in  the  world  of  leisured 
pleasure;  and,  lastly,  they  amused  each  other.     The  result 


WAR  111 

is  not  far  to  seek.  Wherever  the  one  was  invited,  the  other 
was  considered  to  be  in  demand ;  and  Millicent  found  her- 
self face  to  face  with  a  huge  difficulty. 

Sir  John  was  distinctly  in  the  way.  He  had  a  keener  eye 
than  the  majority  of  young  men,  and  occasionally  exercised 
the  old  man's  privilege  of  saying  outright  things  which,  de- 
spite theory,  are  better  left  unsaid.  Moreover,  the  situation 
was  ill-defined,  and  an  ill-defined  situation  does  not  improve 
in  the  keeping.  Sir  John  said  sharp  things — too  sharp  even 
for  Millicent — and,  in  addition  to  the  original  grudge  be- 
gotten of  his  quarrel  with  Jack  and  its  result,  the  girl  nour- 
ished an  ever-present  feeling  of  resentment  at  a  persistency 
in  misunderstanding  her,  of  which  she  shrewdly  suspected 
the  existence. 

Perhaps  the  worst  of  it  was  that  Sir  John  never  said  any- 
thing which  could  be  construed  into  direct  disapproval.  He 
merely  indicated,  in  passing,  the  possession  of  a  keen  eye- 
sight coupled  with  the  embarrassing  faculty  of  adding  to- 
gether correctly  two  small  numerals. 

When,  therefore,  Millicent  allowed  herself  to  be  assisted 
from  the  carriage  at  the  door  of  a  large  midland  country- 
house  by  an  eager  and  lively  little  French  baron  of  her  ac- 
quaintance, she  was  disgusted  but  not  surprised  to  see  a 
well-known  figure  leaning  gracefully  on  a  billiard-cue  in  the 
hall. 

"  I  wish  I  could  think  that  this  pleasure  was  mutual," 
said  Sir  John  with  his  courtliest  smile,  as  he  bowed  over 
Millicent's  hand. 

"  It  might  be,"  with  a  coquettish  glance. 

"  If—"' 

"  If  I  were  not  afraid  of  you." 

Sir  John  turned,  smiling,  to  greet  Lady  Cantourne.  He 
did  not  appear  to  have  heard,  but  in  reality  the  remark  had 
made  a  distinct  impression  on  him.  It  signalized  a  new  de- 
parture— the  attack  at  a  fresh  quarter.  Millicent  had  tried 
most  methods — and  she  possessed  many — hitherto  in  vain. 


112  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

She  had  attempted  to  coax  him  with  a  filial  playfulness  of 
demeanor,  to  dazzle  him  by  a  brilliancy  which  had  that 
effect  upon  the  majority  of  men  in  her  train,  to  win  him  by 
respectful  affection;  but  the  result  had  been  failure.  She 
was  now  bringing  her  last  reserve  up  to  the  front;  and 
there  are  few  things  more  dangerous,  even  to  an  old  cam- 
paigner, than  a  confession  of  fear  from  the  lips  of  a  pretty 
girl. 

Sir  John  Meredith  gave  himself  a  little  jerk — a  throw 
back  of  the  shoulders  which  was  habitual  —  which  might 
have  been  a  tribute  either  to  Millicent  behind,  or  to  Lady 
Cantourne  in  front. 

The  pleasantest  part  of  existence  in  a  large  country-house 
full  of  visitors  is  the  facility  with  which  one  may  avoid 
those  among  the  guests  for  whom  one  has  no  sympathy. 
Millicent  managed  very  well  to  avoid  Sir  John  Meredith. 
The  baron  was  her  slave  —  at  least,  he  said  so  —  and  she 
easily  kept  him  at  her  beck  and  call  during  the  first  evening. 

It  would  seem  that  that  strange  hollow  energy  of  old  a^e 
had  laid  its  hand  upon  Sir  John  Meredith,  for  he  was  the 
first  to  appear  in  the  breakfast-room  the  next  morning. 
He  went  straight  to  the  sideboard,  where  the  letters  and 
newspapers  lay  in  an  orderly  heap.  It  is  a  question  whether 
he  had  not  come  down  early  on  purpose  to  look  for  a  letter. 
Perhaps  he  could  not  stay  in  his  bed  with  the  knowledge 
that  the  postman  had  called.  He  was  possibly  afraid  to 
ask  his  old  servant  to  go  down  and  fetch  his  letters. 

His  bent  and  knotted  hands  fumbled  among  the  corre- 
spondence, and  suddenly  his  twitching  lips  were  still.  A 
strange  stillness  indeed  overcame  his  whole  face,  turning  it 
to  stone.  The  letter  was  there ;  it  had  come,  but  it  was 
not  addressed  to  him. 

Sir  John  Meredith  took  up  the  missive ;  he  looked  at  the 
back,  turned  it,  and  examined  the  handwriting  of  his  own 
son.  There  was  a  whole  volume — filled  with  pride  and 
love  and  unquenchable  resolve — written  on  his  face.     He 


WAR  113 

threw  the  letter  down  among  its  fellows,  and  his  hand  went 
fumbling  weakly  at  his  lips.  He  gazed,  blinking  his  lash- 
less  lids,  at  the  heap  of  letters,  and  the  corner  of  another 
envelope  presently  arrested  his  attention.  It  was  of  the 
same  paper,  the  same  shape  and  hue,  as  that  addressed  to 
Miss  Chyne.  Sir  John  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  reached 
out  his  hand.  The  letter  had  come  at  last.  At  last,  thank 
God !  And  how  weakly  ready  he  was  to  grasp  at  the  olive- 
branch  held  out  to  him  across  a  continent ! 

He  took  the  letter;  he  made  a  step  with  it  towards  the 
door,  seeking  solitude  ;  then,  as  an  after-thought,  he  looked 
at  the  superscription.  It  was  addressed  to  the  same  person, 
Miss  Chyne,  but  in  a  different  handwriting  —  the  hand- 
writing of  a  man  well  educated,  but  little  used  to  wielding 
the  pen. 

"The  other,"  mumbled  Sir  John  —  "the  other  man,  by 
God  !" 

And,  with  a  smile  that  sat  singularly  on  his  withered 
face,  he  took  up  a  newspaper  and  went  towards  the  fire- 
place, where  he  sat  stiffly  in  an  arm-chair,  taking  an  enor- 
mous interest  in  the  morning's  news.  Pie  read  a  single 
piece  of  news  three  times  over,  and  a  fourth  time  in  a 
whisper,  so  as  to  rivet  his  attention  upon  it.  He  would 
not  admit  that  he  was  worsted  —  would  not  humble  his 
pride  even  before  the  ornaments  on  the  mantel-piece. 

Before  Millicent  came  down,  looking  very  fresh  and 
pretty  in  her  tweed  dress,  the  butler  had  sorted  the  letters. 
There  were  only  two  upon  her  plate — the  twin  envelopes 
addressed  by  different  hands.  Sir  John  was  talking  with  a 
certain  labored  lightness  to  Lady  Cantourne  when  that 
lady's  niece  came  into  the  room.  He  was  watching  keenly. 
There  was  a  certain  amount  of  interest  in  the  question  of 
those  two  envelopes,  as  to  which  she  would  open  first.  She 
looked  at  each  in  turn,  glanced  furtively  towards  Sir  John, 
made  a  suitable  reply  to  some  remark  addressed  to  her  by 
the  baron,  and  tore  open  Jack's  envelope.      There  was  a 


114  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

gravity — a  concentrated  gravity — about  her  lips  as  she  un- 
folded the  thin  paper ;  and  Sir  John,  who  knew  the  world 
and  the  little  all-important  trifles  thereof,  gave  an  impatient 
sigh.  It  is  the  little  trifle  that  betrays  the  man,  and  not 
the  larger  issues  of  life  in  which  we  usually  follow  prece- 
dent. It  was  that  passing  gravity  (of  the  lips  only)  that 
told  Sir  John  more  about  Millicent  Chyne  than  she  herself 
knew,  and  what  he  had  learned  did  not  seem  to  be  to  his 
liking. 

There  is  nothing  so  disquieting  as  the  unknown  motive, 
which  disquietude  was  Sir  John's  soon  after  breakfast. 
The  other  men  dispersed  to  put  on  gaiters  and  cartridge- 
bags,  and  the  old  aristocrat  took  his  newspaper  onto  the 
terrace. 

Millicent  followed  him  almost  at  once. 

"  Sir  John,"  she  said,  "  I  have  had  a  letter  from  Africa." 

Did  she  take  it  for  granted  that  he  knew  this  already  ? 
Was  this  spontaneous  ?     Had  Jack  told  her  to  do  it  ? 

These  questions  flashed  through  the  old  man's  mind  as 
his  eyes  rested  on  her  pretty  face. 

He  was  beginning  to  be  afraid  of  this  girl ;  which 
showed  his  wisdom.  For  the  maiden  beautiful  is  a  stronger 
power  in  the  world  than  the  strong  man.  The  proof  of 
which  is  that  she  gets  her  own  way  more  often  than  the 
strong  man  gets  his. 

"From  Africa?"  repeated  Sir  John  Meredith,  with  a 
twitching  lip.  "  And  from  whom  is  your  letter,  my  dear 
young  lady  ?" 

His  face  was  quite  still,  his  old  eyes  steady,  as  he  waited 
for  the  answer. 

"  From  Jack." 

Sir  John  winced  inwardly.  Outwardly  he  smiled  and 
folded  his  newspaper  upon  his  knees. 

"  Ah,  from  my  brilliant  son.     That  is  interesting." 

"Have  you  had  one?"  she  asked,  in  prompt  payment  of 
his  sarcasm. 


WAR  115 

Sir  John  Meredith  looked  up  with  a  queer  little  smile. 
He  admired  the  girl's  spirit.  It  was  the  smile  of  the  fencer 
on  touching  worthy  steel. 

"  No,  my  dear  young  lady,  I  have  not.  Mr.  John  Mere- 
dith does  not  find  time  to  write  to  me — but  he  draws  his 
allowance  from  the  bank  with  a  filial  regularity." 

Millicent  had  the  letter  in  her  hand.  She  made  it  crinkle 
in  her  fingers  within  a  foot  of  the  old  gentleman's  face.  A 
faint  odor  of  the  scent  she  used  reached  his  nostrils.  He 
drew  back  a  little  as  if  he  disliked  it.  His  feeling  for  her 
almost  amounted  to  a  repugnance. 

"I  thought  you  might  like  to  hear  that  he  is  well,"  she 
said,  gently.  She  was  reading  the  address  on  the  envelope, 
and  again  he  saw  that  look  of  concentrated  gravity  which 
made  him  feel  uneasy  for  reasons  of  his  own. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  throw  me  even  that  crumb 
from  your  richly-stored  intellectual  table.  I  am  very  glad 
to  hear  that  he  is  well.  A  whole  long  letter  from  him 
must  be  a  treat  indeed." 

She  thought  of  a  proverb  relating  to  the  grapes  that  are 
out  of  reach,  but  said  nothing. 

It  was  the  fashion  that  year  to  wear  little  flyaway  jack- 
ets with  a  coquettish  pocket  on  each  side.  Millicent  was 
wearing  one  of  them,  and  she  now  became  aware  that  Sir 
John  had  glanced  more  than  once  with  a  certain  signifi- 
cance towards  her  left  hand,  which  happened  to  be  in  that 
pocket.  It,  moreover,  happened  that  Guy  Oscard's  letter 
was  in  the  same  receptacle. 

She  withdrew  the  hand,  and  changed  color  slightly  as 
she  became  conscious  that  the  corner  of  the  envelope  was 
protruding. 

"  I  suppose  that  by  this  time,"  said  Sir  John,  pleasantly, 
"  you  are  quite  an  authority  upon  African  matters  ?" 

His  manner  was  so  extremely  conversational  and  inno- 
cent that  she  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  look  for  an  inner 
meaning.     She  was  relieved  to  find  that  the  two  men,  hav- 


116  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

ing  actually  met,  spoke  of  each  other  frankly.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  Guy  Oscard  could  be  trusted  to  keep  his  promise, 
and  Jack  Meredith  was  not  the  man  to  force  or  repose  a 
confidence. 

"He  does  not  tell  me  much  about  Africa,"  she  replied, 
determined  to  hold  her  ground.  She  was  engaged  to  be 
married  to  Jack  Meredith,  and,  whether  Sir  John  chose  to 
ignore  the  fact  or  not,  she  did  not  mean  to  admit  that  the 
subject  should  be  tabooed. 

"  No — I  suppose  he  has  plenty  to  tell  you  about  himself 
and  his  prospects  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  has.  His  prospects  are  not  so  hopeless  as  you 
think." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Chyne,"  protested  Sir  John, "  I  know  noth- 
ing about  his  prospects  beyond  the  fact  that,  when  I  am  re- 
moved from  this  sphere  of  activity,  he  will  come  into  posses- 
sion of  my  title,  such  as  it  is,  and  my  means,  such  as  they  are." 

"Then  you  attach  no  importance  to  the  work  he  is  inau- 
gurating in  Africa  ?" 

"Not  the  least.  I  did  not  even  know  that  he  was  en- 
deavoring to  work.  I  only  trust  it  is  not  manual  labor — 
it  is  so  injurious  to  the  finger-nails.  I  have  no  sympathy 
with  a  gentleman  who  imagines  that  manual  labor  is  com- 
patible with  his  position,  provided  that  he  does  not  put  his 
hand  to  the  plough  in  England.  Is  not  there  something  in 
the  Scriptures  about  a  man  putting  his  hand  to  the  plough 
and  looking  back?  If  Jack  undertakes  any  work  of  that 
description  I  trust  that  he  will  recognize  the  fact  that  he 
forfeits  his  position  by  doing  so." 

"  It  is  not  manual  labor — I  can  assure  you  of  that." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  He  probably  sells  printed  cot- 
tons to  the  natives,  or  exchanges  wrought  metal  for  ivory — 
an  intellectual  craft.  But  he  is  gaining  experience,  and  I 
suppose  he  thinks  he  is  going  to  make  a  fortune." 

It  happened  that  this  was  precisely  the  thought  expressed 
by  Jack  Meredith  in  the  letter  in  Millicent's  hand. 


WAR  117 

"  He  is  sanguine,"  she  admitted. 

"  Of  course.  Quite  right.  Pray  do  not  discourage  him 
■ — if  you  find  time  to  write.  But,  between  you  and  me,  my 
dear  Miss  Chyne,  fortunes  are  not  made  in  Africa.  I  am 
an  old  man,  aud  I  have  some  experience  of  the  world.  That 
part  of  it  which  is  called  Africa  is  not  the  place  where  fort- 
unes are  made.  It  is  as  different  from  India  as  chalk  is 
from  cheese,  if  you  will  permit  so  vulgar  a  simile." 

Millicent's  face  dropped. 

"  But  some  people  have  made  fortunes  there." 

"Yes — in  slaves!  But  that  interesting  commerce  is  at 
an  end.  However,  so  long  as  my  son  does  not  suffer  in 
health,  I  suppose  we  must  be  thankful  that  he  is  creditably 
employed." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  see,"  he  went  on,  "  your  amiable  friend  the  baron 
approaching  with  lawn-tennis  necessaries.  It  is  wonderful 
that  our  neighbors  never  learn  to  keep  their  enthusiasm  for 
lawn-tennis  in  bounds  until  the  afternoon." 

With  that  he  left  her,  and  the  baron  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion, before  very  long,  that  something  had  "  contraried  "  the 
charming  Miss  Chyne.  The  truth  was  that  Millicent  was 
bitterly  disappointed.  The  idea  of  failure  had  never  en- 
tered her  head  since  Jack's  letters,  full  of  life  and  energy, 
had  begun  to  arrive.  Sir  John  Meredith  was  a  man  whose 
words  commanded  respect — partly  because  he  was  an  old 
man  whose  powers  of  perception  had  as  yet  apparently  re- 
tained their  full  force,  and  the  vast  experience  of  life  which 
was  his  could  hardly  be  overrated.  Man's  prime  is  that 
period  when  the  widest  experience  and  the  keenest  per- 
ception meet. 

Millicent  Chyne  had  lulled  herself  into  a  false  security. 
She  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  Jack  would  succeed,  and 
would  return  rich  and  prosperous  within  a  few  months. 
Upon  this  pleasant  certainty  Sir  John  had  cast  a  doubt, 
and  she  could  hardly  treat  his  words  with  contempt.     She 


118  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

had  almost  forgotten  Guy  Oscard's  letter.  Across  a  hemi- 
sphere Jack  Meredith  was  a  stronger  influence  in  her  life 
than  Oscard. 

While  she  sat  on  the  terrace  and  flirted  with  the  baron 
she  reflected  hurriedly  over  the  situation.  She  was,  she 
argued  to  herself,  not  in  any  way  engaged  to  Guy  Oscard. 
If  he  in  an  unguarded  moment  should  dare  to  mention  such 
a  possibility  to  Jack,  it  would  be  quite  easy  to  contradict 
the  statement  with  convincing  heat.  But  in  her  heart  she 
was  sure  of  Guy  Oscard.  One  of  the  worst  traits  in  the 
character  of  an  unfaithful  woman  is  the  readiness  with 
which  she  trades  upon  the  faithfulness  of  men. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

UNDERHAND 
"  The  offender  never  pardons." 


Victor  Durnovo  lingered  on  at  Loango.  He  elaborated 
and  detailed  to  all  interested,  and  to  some  whom  it  did  not 
concern,  many  excuses  for  his  delay  in  returning  to  his  ex- 
pedition, lying  supine  and  attendant  at  Msala.  It  was  by 
now  an  open  secret  on  the  coast  that  a  great  trading  expe- 
dition was  about  to  ascend  the  Ogowe  River,  with,  it  was 
whispered,  a  fortune  awaiting  it  in  the  dim  perspective  of 
Central  Africa. 

Durnovo  had  already  built  up  for  himself  a  reputation. 
He  was  known  as  one  of  the  foremost  ivory  traders  on  the 
coast — a  man  capable  of  standing  against  those  enormous 
climatic  risks  before  which  his  competitors  surely  fell  soon- 
er or  later.  His  knowledge  of  the  interior  was  unrivalled, 
his  power  over  the  natives  a  household  word.  Great  things 
were  therefore  expected,  and  Durnovo  found  himself  looked. 


UNDERHAND  119 

up  to  and  respected  in  Loango  with  that  friendly  worship 
which  is  only  to  be  acquired  by  the  possession  or  prospective 
possession  of  vast  wealth. 

It  is  possible  even  in  Loango  to  have  a  fling,  but  the 
carouser  must  be  prepared  to  face,  even  in  the  midst  of  his 
revelry,  the  haunting  thought  that  the  exercise  of  the  strict- 
est economy  in  any  other  part  of  the  world  might  be  a 
preferable  pastime. 

During  the  three  days  following  his  arrival  Victor  Dur- 
novo  indulged,  according  to  his  lights,  in  the  doubtful 
pleasure  mentioned.  He  purchased  at  the  best  factory  the 
best  clothes  obtainable;  he  lived  like  a  fighting  cock  in 
the  one  so-called  hotel — a  house  chiefly  affected  and  sup- 
ported by  ship-captains.  He  spent  freely  of  money  that 
was  not  his,  and  imagined  himself  to  be  leading  the  life 
of  a  gentleman.  He  rode  round  on  a  hired  horse  to  call 
on  his  friends,  and  on  the  afternoon  of  the  sixth  day  he 
alighted  from  this  quadruped  at  the  gate  of  the  Gordons' 
bungalow. 

He  knew  that  Maurice  Gordon  had  left  that  morning  on 
one  of  his  frequent  -'cits  to  a  neighboring  sub -factory. 
Nevertheless,  he  expressed  surprise  when  the  servant  gave 
him  the  information. 

"  Miss  Gordon,"  he  said,  tapping  his  boot  with  a  riding- 
whip  :  "is  she  in?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

A  few  minutes  later  Jocelyn  came  into  the  drawing-room, 
where  he  was  waiting  with  a  brazen  face  and  a  sinking 
heart.  Somehow  the  very  room  had  power  to  bring  him 
down  towards  his  own  level.  When  he  set  eyes  on  Jocelyn, 
in  her  fair  Saxon  beauty,  he  regained  aplomb. 

She  appeared  to  be  rather  glad  to  see  him. 

"  I  thought,"  she  said,  "  that  you  had  gone  back  to  the 
expedition  ?" 

And  Victor  Durnovo's  boundless  conceit  substituted 
"  feared  "  for  "  thought." 


120  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"Not  without  coming  to  say  good-bye,"  he  answered. 
"  It  is  not  likely." 

Just  to  demonstrate  how  fully  he  felt  at  ease,  he  took  a 
chair  without  waiting  for  an  invitation,  and  sat  tapping  his 
boot  with  his  whip,  looking  her  furtively  up  and  down  all 
the  while  with  an  appraising  eye. 

"  And  when  do  you  go?"  she  asked,  with  a  subtle  change 
in  her  toue  which  did  not  penetrate  through  his  mental 
epidermis. 

"  I  suppose  in  a  few  days  now ;  but  I'll  let  you  know  all 
right,  never  fear." 

Victor  Durnovo  stretched  out  his  legs  and  made  bimself 
quite  at  home ;  but  Jocelyn  did  not  sit  down.  On  the  con- 
trary, she  remained  standing,  persistently  and  significantly. 

"  Maurice  gone  away  ?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes." 

"  And  left  you  all  alone,"  in  a  tone  of  light  badinage, 
which  fell  rather  flat,  ou  stony  ground. 

"  I  am  accustomed  to  being  left,"  she  answered,  gravely. 

"  I  don't  quite  like  it,  you  know." 

"You?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  steady  surprise  which  made 
him  feel  a  trifle  uncomfortable. 

"Well,  you  know,"  he  was  forced  to  explain,  shuffling 
the  while  uneasily  in  his  chair  and  dropping  his  whip,  "  one 
naturally  takes  an  interest  in  one's  friends'  welfare.  You 
and  Maurice  are  the  best  friends  I  have  in  Loango.  I  often 
speak  to  Maurice  about  it.  It  isn't  as  if  there  was  an  Eng- 
lish garrison,  or  anything  like  that.  I  don't  trust  these 
niggers  a  bit." 

"  Perhaps  you  do  not  understand  them  ?"  suggested  she, 
gently. 

She  moved  away  from  him  as  far  as  she  could  get.  Every 
moment  increased  her  repugnance  for  his  presence. 

"  I  don't  think  Maurice  would  endorse  that,"  he  said, 
with  a  conceited  laugh. 


UNDERHAND  121 

She  winced  at  the  familiar  mention  of  her  brother's 
name,  which  was  probably  intentional,  and  her  old  fear  of 
this  man  came  back  with  renewed  force. 

"  I  don't  think,"  he  went  on,  "  that  Maurice's  estimation 
of  my  humble  self  is  quite  so  low  as  yours." 

She  gave  a  nervous  little  laugh. 

"Maurice  has  always  spoken  of  you  with  gratitude,"  she 
said. 

"To  deaf  ears,  eh?  Yes,  he  has  reason  to  be  grateful, 
though  perhaps  I  ought  not  to  say  it.  I  have  put  him  into 
several  very  good  things  on  the  coast,  and  it  is  in  my  power 
to  get  him  into  this  new  scheme.  It  is  a  big  thing;  he 
would  be  a  rich  man  in  no  time." 

He  rose  from  his  seat,  and  deliberately  crossed  the  room 
to  the  sofa  where  she  had  sat  down,  where  he  reclined,  witli 
one  arm  stretched  out  along  the  back  of  it  towards  her. 
In  his  other  hand  he  held  his  riding- whip,  with  which  he 
began  to  stroke  the  skirt  of  her  dress,  which  reached  along 
the  floor  almost  to  his  feet. 

"  Would  you  like  him  to  be  in  it  ?"  he  asked,  with  a 
meaning  glance  beneath  his  lashes.  "  It  is  a  pity  to  throw 
away  a  good  chance  ;  his  position  is  not  so  very  secure,  you 
know." 

She  gave  a  strange  little  hunted  glance  round  the  room. 
She  was  wedged  into  a  corner,  and  could  not  rise  without 
incurring  the  risk  of  his  saying  something  she  did  not  wish 
to  hear.  Then  she  leaned  forward  and  deliberately  with- 
drew her  dress  from  the  touch  of  his  whip,  which  was,  in 
its  way,  a  subtle  caress. 

"  Is  he  throwing  away  the  chance  ?"  she  asked 

"  No,  but  you  are." 

Then  she  rose  from  her  seat,  and,  standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  faced  him  with  a  sudden  gleam  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  do  not  see  what  it  has  to  do  with  me,"  she  said  ;  "  I 
do  not  know  anything  about  Maurice's  business  arrange- 
ments, and  very  little  about  his  business  friends." 


122  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"Then  let  me  tell  you,  Jocelyn — well,  then,  Miss  Gordon, 
if  yon  prefer  it — that  you  will  know  more  about  one  of  his 
business  friends  before  you  have  finished  with  him.  I've  got 
Maurice  more  or  less  in  my  power  now,  and  it  rests  with  you — " 

At  this  moment  a  shadow  darkened  the  floor  of  the  ve- 
randa, and  an  instant  later  Jack  Meredith  walked  quietly  in 
by  the  window. 

"  Enter,  young  man,"  he  said,  dramatically,  "  by  window 
— centre." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  went  on,  in  a  different  tone  to  Jocelyn, 
"  to  come  in  this  unceremonious  way,  but  the  servant  told 
me  that  you  were  in  the  veranda  with  Durnovo,  and — " 

He  turned  towards  the  half-breed,  pausing. 

"And  Durnovo  is  the  man  I  want,"  weighing  each  word. 

Durnovo's  right  hand  was  in  his  jacket-pocket.  Seeing 
Meredith's  proffered  salutation,  he  slowly  withdrew  it  and 
shook  hands. 

The  flash  of  hatred  was  still  in  his  eyes  when  Jack  Mer- 
edith turned  upon  him  with  aggravating  courtesy.  The 
pleasant,  half-cynical  glance  wandered  from  Durnovo's  dark 
face  very  deliberately  down  to  his  jacket -pocket,  where  the 
stock  of  a  revolver  was  imperfectly  concealed. 

"  We  were  getting  anxious  about  you,"  he  explained, 
"  seeing  that  you  did  not  come  back.  Of  course,  we  knew 
that  you  were  capable  of  taking — care — of  yourself." 

He  was  still  looking  innocently  at  the  tell-tale  jacket- 
pocket,  and  Durnovo,  following  the  direction  of  his  glance, 
hastily  thrust  his  hand  into  it. 

"  But  one  can  never  tell,  with  a  treacherous  climate  like 
this,  what  a  day  may  bring  forth.  However,  I  am  glad  to 
find  you  looking — so  very  fit." 

Victor  Durnovo  gave  an  awkward  little  laugh,  extremely 
conscious  of  the  factorv  clothes. 

"  Oh  yes ;  I'm  all  right,"  he  said.  "  I  was  going  to  start 
this  evening." 

The  girl  stood  behind  them,  with  a  flush  slowly  fading 


UNDERHAND  123 

from  her  face.  There  are  some  women  who  become  sud- 
denly beautiful — not  by  the  glory  of  a  beautiful  thought, 
not  by  the  exaltation  of  a  lofty  virtue,  but  by  the  mere 
practical  human  flush.  Jack  Meredith,  when  he  took  his 
eyes  from  Durnovo's,  glancing  at  Jocelyn,  suddenly  became 
aware  of  the  presence  of  a  beautiful  woman. 

The  crisis  was  past ;  and  if  Jack  knew  it,  so  also  did 
Jocelyn.  She  knew  that  the  imperturbable  gentlemanliness 
of  the  Englishman  had  conveyed  to  the  more  passionate 
West-Indian  the  simple,  downright  fact  that  in  a  lady's 
drawing-room  there  was  to  be  no  raised  voice,  no  itching 
fingers,  no  flash  of  fiery  eyes. 

"Yes," he  said,  "that  will  suit  me  splendidly.  We  will 
travel  together." 

He  turned  to  Jocelyn. 

"  I  hear  your  brother  is  away  ?" 

"  Yes,  for  a  few  days.     He  has  gone  up  the  coast." 

Then  there  was  a  silence.  They  both  paused,  helping 
each  other  as  if  by  prearrangement,  and  Victor  Durnovo 
suddenly  felt  that  he  must  go.  He  rose,  and  picked  up  the 
whip  which  he  had  dropped  on  the  matting.  There  was 
no  help  for  it — the  united  wills  of  these  two  people  were 
too  strong  for  him. 

Jack  Meredith  passed  out  of  the  veranda  with  him,  mur- 
muring something  about  giving  him  a  leg  up.  While  they 
were  walking  round  the  house,  Victor  Durnovo  made  one 
of  those  hideous  mistakes  which  one  remembers  all  through 
life  with  a  sudden  rush  of  warm  shame  and  self-contempt. 
The  very  thing  that  was  uppermost  in  his  mind  to  be  avoid- 
ed suddenly  bubbled  to  his  lips,  almost,  it  would  seem,  in 
defiance  of  his  own  will. 

"  What  about  the  small — the  small-pox  ?"  he  asked. 

"  We  have  got  it  under,"  replied  Jack,  quietly.  "  We 
had  a  very  bad  time  for  three  days,  but  we  got  all  the  cases 
isolated  and  prevented  it  from  spreading.  Of  course,  we 
could  do  little  or  nothing  to  save  them ;  they  died," 


124  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Durnovo  had  the  air  of  a  whipped  dog.  His  mind  was  a 
blank.  He  simply  had  nothing  to  say ;  the  humiliation  of 
utter  self-contempt  was  his. 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid  to  come  back  now,"  Jack  Mere- 
dith went  on,  with  a  strange  refinement  of  cruelty. 

And  that  was  all  he  ever  said  about  it. 

"  Will  it  be  convenient  for  yon  to  meet  me  on  the  beach 
at  four  o'clock  this  afternoon  ?"  he  asked,  when  Durnovo 
was  in  the  saddle. 

"Yes." 

"All  right, four  o'clock." 

He  turned  and  deliberately  went  back  to  the  bungalow. 

There  are  some  friendships  where  the  intercourse  is  only 
the  seed  which  absence  duly  germinates.  Jocelyn  Gordon 
and  Jack  had  parted  as  acquaintances ;  they  met  as  friends. 
There  is  no  explaining  these  things,  for  there  is  no  gauging 
the  depths  of  the  human  mind.  There  is  no  getting  down 
to  the  little  bond  that  lies  at  the  bottom  of  the  well — the 
bond  of  sympathy.  There  is  no  knowing  what  it  is  that 
prompts  us  to  say,  "  This  man,  or  this  woman,  of  all  the 
millions,  shall  be  my  friend." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  "  that  he  should  have  had  a  chance 
of  causing  you  uneasiness  again." 

Jocelyn  remembered  that  all  her  life.  She  remembers 
still — and  Africa  has  slipped  away  from  her  existence  for- 
ever. It  is  one  of  the  mental  photographs  of  her  memory, 
standing  out  clear  and  strong  amid  a  host  of  minor  recol- 
lections. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
A    REQUEST 

"It  surely  was  my  profit  had  I  known, 
It  would  have  been  my  pleasure  had  I  seen." 

"  Why  did  he  come  back  ?" 

Jocelyn  had  risen  as  if  to  intimate  that,  if  he  cared  to  do 
so,  they  would  sit  in  the  veranda. 

"  Why  did  Mr.  Durnovo  come  back  ?"  she  repeated ;  for 
Jack  did  not  seem  to  have  heard  the  question.  He  was 
drawing  forward  a  cane  chair  with  the  leisurely  debonnair 
grace  that  was  his,  and,  before  replying,  he  considered  for  a 
moment. 

"  To  get  quinine,"  he  answered. 

Without  looking  at  her,  he  seemed  to  divine  that  he  had 
made  a  mistake.  He  seemed  to  know  that  she  had  flushed 
suddenly  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  with  a  distressed  look  in 
her  eyes.  The  reason  was  too  trivial.  She  could  only  draw 
one  conclusion. 

"  No,"  he  continued  ;  "  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  think  his 
nerve  gave  way  a  little.  His  health  is  undermined  by  the 
climate.  He  has  been  too  long  in  Africa.  We  have  had 
a  bad  time  at  Msala.  We  have  had  small-pox  in  the  camp. 
Oscard  and  I  have  been  doing  doughty  deeds.  I  feel  con- 
vinced that,  if  we  applied  to  some  society,  we  should  get 
something:  or  other — a  testimonial  or  a  monument — also 
Joseph." 

"  I  like  Joseph,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone. 

"So  do  I.  If  circumstances  had  been  different  —  if 
Joseph  had  not  been  my  domestic  servant  —  I  should  have 
liked  him  for  a  friend." 


126  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

He  was  looking  straight  in  front  of  him  with  a  singular 
fixity.  It  is  possible  that  he  was  conscious  of  the  sidelong 
scrutiny  which  he  was  undergoing. 

"And  you — you  have  been  all  right?"  she  said,  lightly. 

"  Oh  yes,"  with  a  laugh.  "  I  have  not  brought  the  infec- 
tion down  to  Loango ;  you  need  not  be  afraid  of  that." 

For  a  moment  she  looked  as  if  she  were  going  to  explain 
that  she  was  not  "  afraid  of  that."  Then  she  changed  her 
mind,  and  let  it  pass,  as  he  seemed  to  believe. 

"  Joseph  constructed  a  disinfecting  -  room  with  a  wood- 
smoke  fire,  or  something  of  that  description,  and  he  has 
been  disinfecting  everything,  down  to  Oscard's  pipes." 

She  gave  a  little  laugh,  which  stopped  suddenly. 

"  Was  it  very  bad  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh  no.  We  took  it  in  time,  you  see.  We  had  eleven 
deaths.  And  now  we  are  all  right.  We  are  only  waiting 
for  Durnovo  to  join,  and  then  we  shall  make  a  start.  Of 
course,  somebody  else  could  have  come  down  for  the  qui- 
nine." 

"  Yes." 

He  glanced  at  her  beneath  his  lashes  before  going  on. 

"But,  as  Durnovo's  nerves  were  a  little  shaken,  it  —  was 
just  as  well,  don't  you  know,  to  get  him  out  of  it  all." 

"  I  suppose  he  got  himself  out  of  it  all  ?"  she  said,  quietly. 

"Well — to  a  certain  extent.  With  our  approval,  you 
understand." 

Men  have  an  esprit  de  sexe  as  well  as  women.  They  like 
to  hustle  the  cowards  through  with  the  crowd,  unobserved. 

"  It  is  a  strange  thing,"  said  Jocelyn,  with  a  woman's 
scorn  of  the  man  who  fears  those  things  of  which  she  her- 
self has  no  sort  of  dread — "  a  very  strange  thing  that  Mr. 
Durnovo  said  nothing  about  it  down  here.  It  is  not  known 
in  Loango  that  you  had  small-pox  in  the  camp." 

"  Well,  you  see,  when  he  left  we  were  not  quite  sure 
about  it." 

"I  imagine  Mr.  Durnovo  knows  all  about  small -pox. 


A    REQUEST  127 

We  all  do  on  this  coast.     He  could  hardly  help  recognizing 
it  in  its  earliest  stage." 

She  turned  on  him  with  a  smile  which  he  remembered 
afterwards.  At  the  moment  he  felt  rather  abashed,  as  if  he 
had  been  caught  in  a  very  maze  of  untruths.  He  did  not 
meet  her  eyes.  It  was  a  matter  of  pride  with  him  that  he 
was  equal  to  any  social  emergency  that  might  arise.  He 
had  always  deemed  himself  capable  of  withholding  from 
the  whole  questioning  world  anything  that  he  might  wish 
to  withhold.  But  afterwards — later  in  his  life — he  remem- 
bered that  look  in  Jocelyn  Gordon's  face. 

"  Altogether,"  she  said,  with  a  peculiar  little  contented 
laugh,  "  I  think  you  cannot  keep  it  up  any  longer.  He  ran 
away  from  you,  and  left  you  to  fight  against  it  alone.  All 
the  same,  it  was  —  nice  —  of  you  to  try  and  screen  him— ^ 
very  nice;  but  I  do  not  think  that  I  could  have  done  it 
myself.  I  suppose  it  was — noble — and  women  cannot  be 
noble." 

"  No,  it  was  only  expedient.  The  best  way  to  take  the 
world  is  to  wring  it  dry  —  not  to  try  and  convert  it  and 
make  it  better,  but  to  turn  its  vices  to  account.  That 
method  has  the  double  advantage  of  serving  one's  purpose 
at  the  time,  and  standing  as  a  warning  later.  The  best  way 
to  cure  vice  is  to  turn  it  ruthlessly  to  one's  own  account. 
That  is  what  we  are  doing  with  Durnovo.  His  little  idio- 
syncrasies will  turn  in  witness  against  him  later  on." 

She  shook  her  head  in  disbelief. 

"  Your  practice  and  your  theory  do  not  agree,"  she  said. 

There  was  a  little  pause ;  then  she  turned  to  him,  gravely. 

"  Have  you  been  vaccinated  ?"  she  asked. 

"  In  the  days  of  my  baptism,  wherein  I  was  made — " 

"No  doubt,"  she  interrupted,  impatiently ;  "but  since? 
Have  you  had  it  done  lately  ?" 

"Just  before  I  came  away  from  England.  My  tailor 
urged  it  so  strongly.  He  said  that  he  had  made  outfits  for 
many  gents  going  to  Africa,  and  they  had  all  made  their 


128  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

wills  and  been  vaccinated.  For  reasons  which  are  too  pain- 
ful to  dwell  upon  in  these  pages  I  could  not  make  a  will,  so 
I  was  enthusiastically  vaccinated." 

"And  have  you  all  the  medicines  you  will  require?  Did 
you  really  want  that  quinine?" 

There  was  a  practical  common-sense  anxiety  in  the  way 
she  asked  these  questions  which  made  him  answer,  gravely : 

"All,  thanks.  We  did  not  really  want  the  quinine,  but 
we  can  do  with  it.  Oscard  is  our  doctor ;  he  is  really  very 
good.  He  looks  it  all  up  in  a  book,  puts  all  the  negative 
symptoms  on  one  side  and  the  positive  on  the  other — adds 
them  all  up  ;  then  deducts  the  smaller  from  the  larger,  and 
treats  what  is  left  of  the  patient  accordingly." 

She  laughed  more  with  the  view  of  pleasing  him  than 
from  a  real  sense  of  the  ludicrous. 

"  I  do  not  believe,"  she  said,  "  that  you  know  the  risks 
you  are  running  into.  Even  in  the  short  time  that  Maurice 
and  I  have  been  here  we  have  learned  to  treat  the  climate 
of  Western  Africa  with  a  proper  respect.  We  have  known 
so  many  people  who  have — succumbed." 

"  Yes,  hut  I  do  not  mean  to  do  that.  In  a  way,  Dur- 
novo's — what  shall  we  call  it  ? — lack  of  nerve  is  a  great  safe- 
guard.    He  will  not  run  into  any  danger." 

"  No,  but  he  might  run  you  into  it." 

"  Not  a  second  time,  Miss  Gordon.  Not  if  we  know  it. 
Oscard  mentioned  a  desire  to  wring  Durnovo's  neck.  I  am 
afraid  he  will  do  it  one  of  these  days." 

"  The  mistake  that  most  people  make,"  the  girl  went  on, 
more  lightly,  "  is  a  want  of  care.  You  cannot  be  too  care- 
ful, you  know,  in  Africa." 

"  I  am  careful ;  I  have  reason  to  be." 

She  was  looking  at  him  steadily,  her  blue  eyes  searching 
his. 

"  Yes  ?"  she  said,  slowly,  and  there  were  a  thousand  ques- 
tions in  the  word. 

"It  would  be  very  foolish  of  me  to  be  otherwise,"  he  said. 


A    REQUEST  129 

"  I  am  engaged  to  be  married,  and  I  came  out  here  to  make 
the  wherewithal.  This  expedition  is  an  expedition  to  seek 
the  wherewithal." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  and  therefore  you  must  be  more  care- 
ful than  any  one  else.  Because,  you  see,  your  life  is  some- 
thing which  does  not  belong  to  you,  but  with  which  you  are 
trusted.  I  mean,  if  there  is  anything  dangerous  to  be  done, 
let  some  one  else  do  it.  What  is  she  like  ?  What  is  her 
name?" 

"  Her  name  is  Millicent — Millicent  Chyne." 

"  And— what  is  she  like  ?" 

He  leaned  back,  and,  interlocking  his  fingers,  stretched 
his  arms  out  with  the  palms  of  his  hands  outward — a  habit 
of  his  when  asked  a  question  needing  consideration. 

"She  is  of  medium  height;  her  hair  is  brown.  Her 
worst  enemy  admits,  I  believe,  that  she  is  pretty.  Of  course, 
I  am  convinced  of  it." 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Jocelyn,  steadily.  "  That  is  as  it 
should  be.  And  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  and  her  worst 
enemy  are  both  quite  right." 

He  nodded  cheerfully,  indicating  a  great  faith  in  his  own 
judgment  on  the  matter  under  discussion. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  "  that  I  have  not  a  photograph. 
That  would  be  the  correct  thing,  would  it  not  ?  I  ought 
to  have  one  always  with  me  in  a  locket  round  my  neck,  or 
somewhere.  A  curiously- wrought  locket  is  the  correct 
thing,  I  believe.  People  in  books  usually  carry  something 
of  that  description — and  it  is  always  curiously  wrought.  I 
don't  know  where  they  buy  them." 

"  I  think  they  are  usually  inherited,"  suggested  Jocelyn. 

"  I  suppose  they  are,"  he  went  on,  in  the  same  serai- 
serious  tone.  "  And  then  I  ought  to  have  it  always  ready 
to  clasp  in  my  dying  hand,  where  Joseph  would  find  it  and 
wipe  away  a  furtive  tear  as  he  buried  me.  It  is  a  pity.  I 
am  afraid  I  inherited  nothing  from  my  ancestors  except  a 
very  practical  mind." 


130  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  I  should  Lave  liked  very  much  to  see  a  photograph  of 
Miss  Chyne,"  said  Jocelyn,  who  had,  apparently,  not  been 
listening. 

"  I  hope  some  day  you  will  see  herself,  at  home  in  Eng- 
land.    For  you  have  no  abiding  city  here." 

"  Only  a  few  more  years  now.  Has  she — are  her  parents 
living  ?" 

"  No ;  they  are  both  dead.  Indian  people  they  were. 
Indian  people  have  a  tragic  way  of  dying  young.  Millicent 
lives  with  her  aunt,  Lady  Cantourne.  And  Lady  Cantourne 
ought  to  have  married  my  respected  father." 

"Why  did  she  not  do  so?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders — paused — sat  up,  and  nicked 
a  large  moth  off  the  arm  of  his  chair.     Then : 

"  Goodness  only  knows,"  he  said.  "  Goodness,  and 
themselves.  I  suppose  they  found  it  out  too  late.  That 
is  one  of  the  little  risks  of  life." 

She  answered  nothing. 

"  Do  you  think,"  he  went  on,  "  that  there  will  be  a  spe- 
cial hell  in  the  hereafter  for  parents  who  have  sacrificed 
their  children's  lives  to  their  own  ambition  %  I  hope  there 
will  be." 

"  I  have  never  given  the  matter  the  consideration  it  de- 
serves," she  answered.  "  Was  that  the  reason  ?  Is  Lady 
Cantourne  a  more  important  person  than  Lady  Meredith  ?" 

"  Yes." 

She  gave  a  little  nod  of  comprehension,  as  if  he  had  raised 
a  curtain  for  her  to  see  into  his  life — into  the  far  perspective 
of  it,  reaching  back  into  the  dim  distance  of  fifty  years  be- 
fore. For  our  lives  do  reach  back  into  the  lives  of  our  fathers 
and  grandfathers;  the  beginnings  made  there  come  down 
into  our  daily  existence,  shaping  our  thought  and  action. 
That  which  stood  between  Sir  John  Meredith  and  his  son 
was  not  so  much  the  present  personality  of  Millicent  Chyne 
as  the  past  shadows  of  a  disappointed  life,  an  unloved  wife 
and  an  unsympathetic  mother.     And  these  things  Jocelyn 


A    REQUEST  131 

Gordon  knew  while  she  sat,  gazing  with  thoughtful  eyes, 
wherein  something  lived  and  burned  of  which  she  was  al- 
most ignorant — gazing  through  the  tendrils  of  the  creeping 
flowers  that  hung  around  them. 

At  last  Jack  Meredith  rose  briskly,  watch  in  hand,  and 
Jocelyn  came  back  to  things  of  earth  with  a  quick,  gasping 
sigh  which  took  her  by  surprise. 

"  Miss  Gordon,  will  you  do  something  for  me  ?" 

"With  pleasure." 

He  tore  a  leaf  from  his  pocket-book,  and,  going  to  the 
table,  he  wrote  on  the  paper  with  a  pencil  pendent  at  his 
watch-chain. 

"The  last  few  days,"  he  explained  while  he  wrote,  "have 
awakened  me  to  the  lamentable  fact  that  human  life  is  rather 
an  uncertain  affair." 

He  came  towards  her,  holding  out  the  paper. 

"  If  you  hear — if  anything  happens  to  me,  would  you  be 
so  kind  as  to  write  to  Millicent  and  tell  her  of  it  ?  That  is 
the  address." 

She  took  the  paper,  and  read  the  address  with  a  dull  sort 
of  interest. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "  Yes,  if  you  like.  But  —  nothing 
must  happen  to  you." 

There  was  a  slight  unsteadiness  in  her  voice  which  made 
her  stop  suddenly.  She  did  not  fold  the  paper,  but  contin- 
ued to  read  the  address. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  nothing  will.  But  would  you  not  de- 
spise a  man  who  could  not  screw  up  his  courage  to  face  the 
possibility  ?" 

He  wondered  what  she  was  thinking  about,  for  she  did 
not  seem  to  hear  him. 

A  clock  in  the  drawing  -  room  behind  them  struck  the 
half-hour,  and  the  sound  seemed  to  recall  her  to  the  present. 

"  Are  you  going  now  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  vaguely  puzzled.  "  Yes,  I  must  go 
now." 


132  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

She  rose,  and  for  a  moment  he  held  her  hand.  He  was 
distinctly  conscious  of  something  left  unsaid  —  of  many 
things.  He  even  paused  on  the  edge  of  the  veranda,  trying 
to  think  what  it  was  that  he  had  to  say.  Then  he  pushed 
aside  the  hanging  flowers  and  passed  out. 

"  Good-bye !"  he  said,  over  his  shoulder. 

Her  lips  moved,  but  he  heard  no  sound.  She  turned  with 
a  white,  drawn  face  and  sat  down  again.  The  paper  was  still 
in  her  hand.     She  consulted  it  again,  reading  in  a  whisper : 

"  Millicent  Chyne— Millicent !" 

She  turned  the  paper  over  and  studied  the  back  of  it — 
almost  as  if  she  were  trying  to  find  what  there  was  behind 
that  name. 

Through  the  trees  there  rose  and  fell  the  music  of  the 
distant  surf.  Somewhere  near  at  hand  a  water-wheel,  slowly 
irrigating  the  rice-fields,  creaked  and  groaned  after  the  man- 
ner of  water-wheels  all  over  Africa.  In  all  there  was  that 
subtle  sense  of  unreality  —  that  utter  lack  of  permanency 
which  touches  the  heart  of  the  white  exile  in  tropic  lands, 
and  lets  life  slip  away  without  allowing  the  reality  of  it  to 
be  felt. 

The  girl  sat  there  with  the  name  before  her — written  on 
the  little  slip  of  paper — the  only  memento  he  had  left  her. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

IVORY 

"  'Tis  one  thing  to  be  tempted,  E3calus, 
Another  thing  to  fall." 

One  of  the  peculiarities  of  Africa  yet  to  be  explained  is 
the  almost  supernatural  rapidity  with  which  rumor  travels. 
Across  the  whole  breadth  of  this  darkest  continent  a  mere 
bit  of  gossip  has  made  its  way  in  a  month.     A  man  may 


IVORY  133 

divulge  a  secret,  say,  at  St.  Paul  de  Loanda,  take  ship  to 
Zanzibar,  and  there  his  own  secret  will  be  told  to  him. 

Rumor  met  Maurice  Gordon  almost  at  the  outset  of  his 
journey  northward. 

"  Small-pox  is  raging  on  the  Ogowe  River,"  they  told  him. 
"  The  English  expedition  is  stricken  down  with  it.  The 
three  leaders  are  dead." 

Maurice  Gordon  had  not  lived  four  years  on  the  West 
African  coast  in  vain.  lie  took  this  for  what  it  was  worth. 
But  if  he  had  acquired  scepticism,  he  had  lost  his  nerve. 
He  put  about  and  sailed  back  to  Loango. 

"I  wonder,"  he  muttered,  as  he  walked  up  from  the  beach 
to  his  office  that  same  afternoon — "  I  wonder  if  Durnovo  is 
among  them  ?" 

And  he  was  conscious  of  a  ray  of  hope  in  his  mind.  He 
was  a  kind-hearted  man,  in  his  way — this  Maurice  Gordon, 
of  Loango;  but  he  could  not  disguise  from  himself  the 
simple  fact  that  the  death  of  Victor  Durnovo  would  be  a 
distinct  convenience  and  a  most  desirable  relief.  Even  the 
best  of  us — that  is  to  say,  the  present  writer  and  his  reader 
— have  these  inconvenient  little  feelings.  There  are  people 
who  have  done  us  no  particular  injury,  to  whom  we  wish  no 
particular  harm,  but  we  feel  that  it  would  be  very  expedient 
and  considerate  of  them  to  die. 

Thinking  these  thoughts,  Maurice  Gordon  arrived  at  the 
factory  and  went  straight  to  his  own  office,  where  he  found 
the  object  of  them — Victor  Durnovo — sitting  in  consump- 
tion of  the  office  sherry. 

Gordon  saw  at  once  that  the  rumor  was  true.  There  was 
a  hunted,  unwholesome  look  in  Durnovo's  eyes.  He  looked 
shaken,  and  failed  to  convey  a  suggestion  of  personal  dignity. 

"  Holloa !"  exclaimed  the  proprietor  of  the  decanter. 
u  You  look  a  bit  chippy.  I've  heard  you've  got  small-pox 
up  at  Msala." 

"  So  have  I.     I've  just  heard  it  from  Meredith." 

"  Just  heard  it — is  Meredith  down  here  too  ?" 


134  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  Yes,  and  the  fool  wants  to  go  back  to-night.  I  have  to 
meet  him  on  the  beach  at  four  o'clock." 

Maurice  Gordon  sat  down,  poured  out  for  himself  a  glass 
of  sherry,  and  drank  it  thoughtfully. 

"  Do  you  know,  Durnovo,"  he  said,  emphatically,  "  I  have 
my  doubts  about  Meredith  being  a  fool." 

"Indeed  !"  with  a  derisive  laugh. 

"Yes." 

Maurice  Gordon  looked  over  his  shoulder  to  see  that  the 
door  was  shut. 

"  You'll  have  to  be  very  careful,"  he  said.  "  The  least 
slip  might  let  it  all  out.  Meredith  has  a  quiet  way  of 
looking  at  one  which  disquiets  me.     He  might  find  out." 

"  Not  he,"  replied  Durnovo  confidently,  "  especially  if  we 
succeed  ;  and  we  shall  succeed — by  God,  we  shall !" 

Maurice  Gordon  made  a  little  movement  of  the  shoulders, 
as  indicating  a  certain  uneasiness  ;  but  he  said  nothing. 

There  was  a  pause  of  considerable  duration,  at  the  end  of 
which  Durnovo  produced  a  paper  from  his  pocket  and 
threw  it  down. 

"  That's  good  business,"  he  said. 

"  Two  thousand  tusks,"  murmured  Maurice  Gordon. 
"Yes,  that's  good.     Through  Akmed,  I  suppose  2" 

"  Yes.     We  cau  outdo  these  Arabs  at  their  own  trade." 
An  evil  smile  lighted  up  Durnovo's  sallow  face.     When 
he  smiled,  his  drooping,  curtain-like  mustache  projected  in 
a  way  that  made  keen  observers  of  the  human  face  wonder 
what  his  mouth  was  like. 

Gordon,  who  had  been  handling  the  paper  with  the  tips 
of  his  fingers,  as  if  it  were  something  unclean,  threw  it 
down  on  the  table  again. 

"  Ye — es,"  he  said,  slowly ;  "  but  it  does  not  seem  to  dirty 
black  hands  as  it  does  white.     They  know  no  better." 

"  Lord !"  ejaculated  Durnovo.  "  Don't  let  us  begin  the 
old  arguments  all  over  again.  I  thought  we  settled  that  the 
trade  was  there ;  we  couldn't  prevent  it,  and  therefore  the 


IVORY  135 

best  tiling  is  to  make  hay  while  the  sun  shines,  and  then 
clear  out  of  the  country." 

"  But  suppose  Meredith  finds  out  ?"  reiterated  Maurice 
Gordon,  with  the  lamentable  hesitation  that  precedes  loss. 

"  If  Meredith  finds  out,  it  will  be  the  worse  for  him." 

A  certain  concentration  of  tone  aroused  Maurice  Gordon's 
attention,  and  he  glanced  uneasily  at  his  companion. 

"  No  one  knows  what  goes  on  in  the  heart  of  Africa," 
saidDurnovo,  darkly.  "But  we  will  not  trouble  about  that; 
Meredith  won't  find  out." 

"  Where  is  he  now  ?" 

"With  your  sister,  at  the  bungalow.  A  lady's  man — 
that  is  what  he  is." 

Victor  Durnovo  was  smarting  under  a  sense  of  injury 
which  was  annoyingly  indefinite.  It  was  true  that  Jack 
Meredith  had  come  at  a  very  unpropitious  moment ;  but  it 
was  equally  clear  that  the  intrusion  could  only  have  been 
the  result  of  accident.  It  was  really  a  case  of  the  third 
person  who  is  no  company,  with  aggravated  symptoms. 
Durnovo  had  vaguely  felt  in  the  presence  of  either  a  subtle 
possibility  of  sympathy  between  Jocelyn  Gordon  and  Jack 
Meredith.  When  he  saw  them  together,  for  only  a  few 
minutes  as  it  happened,  the  sympathy  rose  up  and  buffeted 
him  in  the  face,  and  he  hated  Jack  Meredith  for  it.  He 
hated  him  for  a  certain  reposeful  sense  of  capability  which 
he  had  at  first  set  down  as  conceit,  and  later  on  had  learned 
to  value  as  something  innate  in  blood  and  education  which 
was  not  conceit.  He  hated  him  because  his  gentlemanli- 
ness  was  so  obvious  that  it  showed  up  the  flaws  in  other 
men,  as  the  masterpiece  upon  the  wall  shows  up  the  weak- 
nesses of  the  surrounding  pictures.  But  most  of  all  he 
hated  him  because  Jocelyn  Gordon  seemed  to  have  some- 
thing in  common  with  the  son  of  Sir  John  Meredith  —  a 
world  above  the  head  of  even  the  most  successful  trader  on 
the  coast  —  a  world  in  which  he,  Victor  Durnovo,  could 
never  live  and  move  at  ease. 


136  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Beyond  this,  Victor  Durnovo  cherished  the  hatred  of  the 
Found  Out.  He  felt  instinctively  that  behind  the  courteous 
demeanor  of  Jack  Meredith  there  was  an  opinion  —  a  cool, 
unbiassed  criticism  —  of  himself,  which  Meredith  had  no 
intention  of  divulging. 

On  hearing  that  Jack  was  at  the  bungalow  with  Jocelyn, 
Maurice  Gordon  glanced  at  the  clock  and  wondered  how  he 
could  get  away  from  his  present  visitor.  The  atmosphere 
of  Jack  Meredith's  presence  was  preferable  to  that  diffused 
by  Victor  Durnovo.  There  was  a  feeling  of  personal  safety 
and  dignity  in  the  very  sound  of  his  voice  which  set  a  weak 
and  easily-led  man  upon  his  feet. 

But  Victor  Durnovo  had  something  to  say  to  Gordon 
which  circumstances  had  brought  to  a  crisis. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  leaning  forward  and  throwing 
away  the  cigarette  he  had  been  smoking,  "  this  Simiacine 
scheme  is  going  to  be  the  biggest  thing  that  has  ever  been 
run  on  this  coast." 

"Yes,"  said  Gordon,  with  the  indifference  that  comes 
from  non-participation. 

"  And  I'm  the  only  business  man  in  it,"  significantly. 

Gordon  nodded  his  head,  awaiting  further  developments. 

"  Which  means  that  I  could  work  another  man  into  it.  I 
might  find  out  that  we  could  not  get  on  without  him." 

The  black  eyes  seemed  to  probe  the  good-natured,  sensual 
face  of  Maurice  Gordon,  so  keen,  so  searching  was  their 
glance. 

"And  I  would  be  willing  to  do  it — to  make  that  man's 
fortune  —  provided  —  that  he  was  —  my  brother-in-law." 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Gordon,  setting 
down  the  glass  that  was  half-raised  to  his  lips. 

"  I  mean  that  I  want  to  marry  —  Jocelyn." 

And  the  modern  school  of  realistic,  mawkishly  foul  nov- 
elists, who  hold  that  Love  excuseth  all,  would  have  taken 
delight  in  the  passionate  rendering  of  the  girl's  name. 

"  Want  to  marry  Jocelyn,  do  you  ?"  answered  Maurice, 


IVORY  137 

with  a  derisive  little  laugh.  On  the  first  impulse  of  the 
moment  he  gave  no  thought  to  himself  or  his  own  interests, 
and  spoke  with  undisguised  contempt.  He  might  have 
been  speaking  to  a  beggar  on  the  road-.side. 

Durnovo's  eyes  flashed  dangerously,  and  his  tov5cco- 
stained  teeth  clinched  for  a  moment  over  his  lower  li^. 

"  That  is  my  desire  —  and  intention." 

"Look  here,  Durnovo,"  exclaimed  Gordon,  "don't  be 
a  fool !    Can't  you  see  that  it  is  quite  out  of  the  question  ?'' 

He  attempted  weakly  to  dismiss  the  matter  by  leaning 
forward  on  his  writing-table,  taking  up  his  pen,  and  busying 
himself  with  a  number  of  papers. 

Victor  Durnovo  rose  from  his  chair  so  hastily  that  in  a 
flash  Maurice  Gordon's  hand  was  in  the  top  right-hand 
drawer  of  his  writing-table.  The  good-natured  blue  eyes 
suddenly  became  fixed  and  steady.  But  Durnovo  seemed 
to  make  an  effort  over  himself,  and  walked  to  the  window, 
where  he  drew  aside  the  woven-grass  blind  and  looked  out 
into  the  glaring  sunlight.  Still  standing  there,  he  turned 
and  spoke  in  a  low,  concentrated  voice : 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  can't  see  that  it  is  out  of  the  question. 
On  the  contrary,  it  seems  only  natural  that  she  should 
marry  the  man  who  is  her  brother's  partner  in  many  a 
little  —  speculation." 

Maurice  Gordon,  sitting  there,  staring  hopelessly  into  the 
half-breed's  face,  saw  it  all.  He  went  back  in  a  flash  of 
recollection  to  many  passing  details  which  had  been  un- 
noted at  the  time  —  details  which  now  fitted  into  each 
other  like  links  of  a  chain  —  and  that  chain  was  around 
him.  He  leaped  forward  in  a  momentary  opening  of  the 
future,  *n<!  saw  himself  ruined,  disgraced,  held  up  to  the 
ration  of  the  whole  civilized  world.  He  was  utterly  in 
this  mau'b  power  —  bound  hand  and  foot.  He  could  not 
say  him  no ;  and  least  of  all  could  he  say  no  to  this  de- 
mand, which  had  roused  all  the  latent  chivalry,  gentleman- 
liness,  brotherly  love  that  was   in  him.     Maurice  Gordon 


138  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

knew  that  Victor  Durnovo  possessed  knowledge  which  Joce 
lyn  would  consider  cheap  at  the  price  of  her  person. 

There  was  one  way  out  of  it.  His  hand  was  still  on  the 
handle  of  the  top  right-hand  drawer.  He  was  a  dead-shot. 
His  finger  was  within  two  inches  of  the  stock  of  a  revolver. 
One  bullet  for  Victor  Durnovo,  another  for  himself.  Then 
the  old  training  of  his  school-days — the  training  that  makes 
an  upright,  honest  gentleman  —  asserted  itself,  and  he  saw 
the  cowardice  of  it.  There  was  time  enough  for  that  later, 
when  the  crisis  came.  In  the  meantime,  if  the  worst  came 
to  the  worst,  he  could  fight  to  the  end. 

"  I  don't  think,"  said  Durnovo,  who  seemed  to  be  follow- 
ing Gordon's  thoughts,  "  that  the  idea  will  be  so  repellent 
to  your  sister  as  you  seem  to  think." 

And  a  sudden  ray  of  hope  shot  athwart  the  future  into 
which  his  listener  was  staring.  It  might  be  so.  One  can 
never  tell  with  women.  Maurice  Gordon  had  had  consider- 
able experience  of  the  world,  and,  after  all,  he  was  only 
building  up  hope  upon  precedent.  He  knew,  as  well  as  you 
or  I,  that  women  will  dance  and  flirt  with — even  marry — 
men  who  are  not  gentlemen.  Not  only  for  the  moment, 
but  as  a  permanency,  something  seems  to  kill  their  percep- 
tion of  a  fact  which  is  patent  to  every  educated  man  in  the 
room  ;  and  one  never  knows  what  it  is.  One  can  only  sur- 
mise that  it  is  that  thirst  for  admiration  which  does  more 
harm  in  the  world  than  the  thirst  for  alcoholic  stimulant 
which  we  fight  by  societies  and  guilds,  oaths,  and  little  bits 
of  ribbon. 

"  The  idea  never  entered  my  head,"  said  Gordon. 

"  It  has  never  been  out  of  mine,"  replied  Durnovo,  with 
a  little  harsh  laugh  which  was  almost  pathetic. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  do  anything  now,"  he  went  on, 
more  gently.  It  was  wonderful  how  well  he  knew  Mau- 
rice Gordon.  The  suggested  delay  appealed  to  one  side  of 
his  nature,  the  softened  tone  to  another.  "  There  is  time 
enough.     When  I  come  back  I  will  speak  of  it  again." 


IVORY  139 

"You  have  not  spoken  to  her?" 

"No,  I  have  not  spoken  to  her." 

Maurice  Gordon  shook  his  head. 

"  She  is  a  queer  girl,"  he  said,  trying  to  conceal  the  hope 
that  was  in  his  voice.  "  She  is  cleverer  than  me,  you  know, 
and  all  that.  My  influence  is  very  small,  and  would  scarce- 
ly be  considered." 

"  But  your  interests  would,"  suggested  Durnovo.  "  Your 
sister  is  very  fond  of  you,  and — I  think  I  have  one  or  two 
arguments  to  put  forward  which  she  would  recognize  as 
uncommonly  strong." 

The  color  which  had  been  returning  slowly  to  Mau- 
rice Gordon's  face  now  faded  away  again.  His  lips 
were  dry  and  shrivelled  as  if  he  had  passed  through  a 
sirocco. 

"  Mind,"  continued  Durnovo,  reassuringly,  "  I  don't  say  I 
would  use  them  unless  I  suspected  that  you  were  acting  in 
opposition  to  my  wishes." 

Gordon  said  nothing.  His  heart  was  throbbing  uncom- 
fortably— it  seemed  to  be  in  his  throat. 

"  I  would  not  bring  forward  those  arguments  except  as  a 
last  resource,"  went  on  Victor  Durnovo,  with  the  deliberate 
cruelty  of  a  tyrant.  "  I  would  first  point  out  the  advan- 
tages ;  a  fourth  share  in  the  Simiacine  scheme  would  make 
you  a  rich  man — above  suspicion — independent  of  the  gos- 
sip of  the  market-place." 

Maurice  Gordon  winced  visibly,  and  his  eyes  wavered  as 
if  he  were  about  to  give  way  to  panic. 

"  You  could  retire  and  go  home  to  England — to  a  cooler 
climate.  This  country  might  get  too  hot  for  your  consti- 
tution— see  ?" 

Durnovo  came  back  into  the  centre  of  the  room  and 
stood  by  the  writing-table.  His  attitude  was  that  of  a  man 
holding  a  whip  over  a  cowering  dog. 

He  took  up  his  hat  and  riding-whip  with  a  satisfied  little 
laugh,  as  if  the  dog  had  cringingly  done  bis  bidding. 


140  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  Besides,"  he  said,  with  a  certain  defiance  of  manner,  "  I 
may  succeed  without  any  of  that — eh  ?" 

"Yes,"  Gordon  was  obliged  to  admit  with  a  gulp,  as  if 
he  were  swallowing  his  pride,  and  he  knew  that  in  saying 
the  word  he  was  degrading  his  sister — throwing  her  at  this 
man's  feet  as  the  price  of  his  own  honor. 

With  a  half-contemptuous  nod  Victor  Durnovo  turned 
and  went  away  to  keep  his  appointment  with  Meredith. 


CHAPTER  XX 

BROUGHT    TO    THE    8CRATCH 

"  Take  heed  of  still  waters ;  the  quick  pass  away." 

Gut  Oscard  was  sitting  on  the  natural  terrace  in  front 
of  Durnovo's  house  at  Msala,  and  Marie  attended  to  his  sim- 
ple wants  with  that  patient  dignity  which  suggested  the  rec- 
ollection of  better  times,  and  appealed  strongly  to  the  man- 
hood of  her  fellow-servant  Joseph  and  her  whilom  master. 

Oscard  was  not  good  at  the  enunciation  of  those  small 
amenities  which  are  supposed  to  soothe  the  feelings  of  the 
temporarily  debased.  He  vaguely  felt  that  this  woman  was 
not  accustomed  to  menial  service,  but  he  knew  that  any 
suggestion  of  sympathy  was  more  than  he  could  compass. 
So  he  merely  spoke  to  her  more  gently  than  to  the  men,  and 
perhaps  she  understood,  despite  her  chocolate-colored  skin. 

They  had  inaugurated  a  strange  unequal  friendship  during 
the  three  days  that  Oscard  had  been  left  alone  at  Msala. 
Joseph  had  been  promoted  to  the  command  of  a  certain 
number  of  the  porters,  and  his  domestic  duties  were  laid 
aside.  Thus  Marie  was  called  upon  to  attend  to  Guy  Osr 
card's  daily  wants. 


BROUGHT    TO    THE    SCRATCH  141 

"  I  think  I'll  take  coffee,"  he  was  saying  to  her,  in  reply 
to  a  question.     "  Yes — coffee,  please,  Marie." 

He  was  smoking  one  of  his  big  wooden  pipes,  staring 
straight  in  front  of  him  with  a  placidity  natural  to  his  bulk. 

The  woman  turned  away  with  a  little  smile.  She  liked 
this  big  man  with  his  halting  tongue  and  quiet  ways.  She 
liked  his  awkward  attempts  to  conciliate  the  coquette  Xan- 
tippe — to  extract  a  smile  from  the  grave  Nestorius,  and  she 
liked  his  manner  towards  herself.  She  liked  the  poised  pipe 
and  the  jerky  voice  as  he  said,  "  Yes — coffee,  please,  Marie." 

Women  do  like  these  things  —  they  seem  to  understand 
them,  and  to  attach  some  strange,  subtle  importance  of  their 
own  to  them.  For  which  power  some  of  us  who  have  not 
the  knack  of  turning  a  pretty  phrase,  or  throwing  off  an 
appropriate  pleasantry,  may  well  be  thankful. 

Presently  she  returned,  bringing  the  coffee  on  a  rough 
tray,  also  a  box  of  matches  and  Oscard's  tobacco-pouch. 
Noting  this  gratuitous  attention  to  his  comfort,  he  looked 
up  with  a  little  laugh. 

"  Er— thank  you,"  he  said.     "  Very  kind." 

He  did  not  put  his  pipe  back  to  his  lips — keenly  alive  to 
the  fact  that  the  exigency  of  the  moment  demanded  a  little 
polite  exchange  of  commonplace. 

"  Children  gone  to  bed  ?"  he  asked,  anxiously. 

She  paused  in  her  slow,  deft  arrangement  of  the  little 
table. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  quietly. 

He  nodded  as  if  the  news  were  eminently  satisfactory. 
"  Nestorius,"  he  said,  adhering  to  Meredith's  pleasantry,  "  is 
the  jolliest  little  chap  I  have  met  for  a  long  time." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  softly.     "  Yes — but  listen  1" 

He  raised  his  head,  listening  as  she  did  —  both  looking 
down  the  river  into  the  gathering  darkness. 

"  I  hear  the  sound  of  paddles,"  she  said.    "And  you?" 

"  Not  yet.    My  ears  are  not  so  sharp  as  yours." 

"  I  am  accustomed  to  it,"  the  woman  said,  with   some 


142  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

emotion  in  ber  voice  which,  he  did  not  understand  then. 
"  I  am  always  listening." 

Oscard  seemed  to  be  struck  with  this  description  of  her- 
self. It  was  so  very  apt — so  comprehensive.  The  woman's 
attitude  before  the  world  was  the  attitude  of  the  listener  for 
some  distant  sound. 

She  poured  out  his  coffee,  setting  the  cup  at  his  elbow. 
"  Now  you  will  hear,"  she  said,  standing  upright  with  that 
untrammelled  dignity  of  carriage  which  is  found  wherever 
African  blood  is  in  the  veins.  "  They  have  just  come  round 
Broken  Tree  Bend.  .  There  are  two  boats." 

He  listened,  and  after  a  moment  heard  the  regular  glug- 
glug  of  the  paddles  stealing  over  the  waters  of  the  still 
tropic  river,  covering  a  wonderful  distance. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  hear.  Mr.  Meredith  said  he  would  be 
back  to-night." 

She  gave  a  strange  little  low  laugh — almost  the  laugh  of 
a  happy  woman. 

"  He  is  like  that,  Mr.  Meredith,"  she  said  ;  "  what  he  says 
he  does" — in  the  pretty  English  of  one  who  has  learned 
Spanish  first. 

"  Yes,  Marie— he  is  like  that." 

She  turned,  in  her  strangely  subdued  way,  and  went  into 
the  house  to  prepare  some  supper  for  the  new-comers. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  sound  of  the  paddles  was  quite 
distinct,  and  then  —  probably  on  turning  a  corner  of  the 
river  and  coming  in  sight  of  the  lights  of  Msala  —  Jack 
Meredith's  cheery  shout  came  floating  through  the  night. 
Oscard  took  his  pipe  from  his  lips  and  sent  back  an  answer 
that  echoed  against  the  trees  across  the  river.  He  walked 
down  to  the  water's  edge,  where  he  was  presently  joined  by 
Joseph  with  a  lantern. 

The  two  boats  came  on  to  the  sloping  shore  with  a  grat- 
ing sound,  and  by  the  light  of  the  waving  lantern  Oscard 
saw  Durnovo  and  Jack  land  from  the  same  boat. 

The  three  men  walked  up  to  the  house  together.     Marie 


BROUGHT  TO  THE  SCRATCH  143 

was  at  the  door,  and  bowed  her  head  gravely  in  answer  to 
Jack's  salutation.     Durnovo  nodded  curtly  and  said  nothing. 

In  the  sitting-room,  by  the  light  of  the  paraffin  lamp,  the 
two  Englishmen  exchanged  a  long  questioning  glance,  quite 
different  from  the  quick  interrogation  of  a  woman's  eyes. 
There  was  a  smile  on  Jack  Meredith's  face. 

"  All  ready  to  start  to-morrow  V  he  inquired. 

"Yes,"  replied  Oscard. 

And  that  was  all  they  could  say.  Durnovo  never  left 
them  alone  together  that  night.  He  watched  their  faces 
with  keen,  suspicious  eyes.  Behind  the  mustache  his  lips 
were  pursed  up  in  restless  anxiety.  But  he  saw  nothing — 
learned  nothing.     These  two  men  were  inscrutable. 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  next  morning  the  Simiacine  seekers 
left  their  first  unhappy  camp  at  Msala.  They  had  tasted 
of  misfortune  at  the  very  beginning,  but  after  the  first  re- 
verse they  returned  to  their  work  with  that  dogged  deter- 
mination which  is  a  better  spirit  than  the  wild  enthusiasm 
of  departure,  where  friends  shout  and  flags  wave,  and  an 
artificial  hopefulness  throws  in  its  jarring  note. 

They  had  left  behind  them  with  the  artifice  of  civil- 
ization that  subtle  handicap  of  a  woman's  presence ;  and 
the  little  flotilla  of  canoes  that  set  sail  from  the  terrace  at 
Msala  one  morning  in  November,  not  so  many  years  ago, 
was  essentially  masculine  in  its  bearing.  The  four  white 
men — quiet,  self-contained,  and  intrepid — seemed  to  work 
together  with  a  perfect  unity,  a  oneness  of  thought  and 
action  which  really  lay  in  the  brain  of  one  of  them.  No 
man  can  define  a  true  leader ;  for  one  is  too  autocratic  and 
the  next  too  easily  led  ;  one  is  too  quick-tempered,  another 
too  reserved.  It  would  almost  seem  that  the  ideal  leader  is 
that  man  who  knows  how  to  extract  from  the  brains  of  his 
subordinates  all  that  is  best  and  strongest  therein  —  who 
knows  how  to  suppress  his  own  individuality,  and  merge  it 
for  the  time  being  into  that  of  his  fellow-worker — whose 
influence  is  from  within,  and  not  from  without. 


144  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

The  most  successful  Presidents  of  Republics  Lave  been 
those  who  are  or  pretend  to  be  nonentities,  content  to  be 
mere  pegs,  standing  still  and  lifeless,  for  things  to  be  hung 
upon.  Jack  Meredith  was,  or  pretended  to  be,  this.  He 
never  assumed  the  airs  of  a  leader.  He  never  was  a  leader. 
He  merely  smoothed  things  over,  suggested  here,  laughed 
there,  and  seemed  to  stand  by,  indifferent  all  the  while. 

In  less  than  a  week  they  left  the  river,  hauling  their 
canoes  up  on  the  bank,  and  hiding  them  in  the  tangle  of 
the  virgin  underwood.  A  depot  of  provisions,  likewise 
hidden,  was  duly  made,  and  the  long,  weary  march  began. 

The  daily  routine  of  this  need  not  be  followed,  for  there 
were  weeks  of  long  monotony  varied  only  by  a  new  diffi- 
culty, a  fresh  danger,  or  a  deplorable  accident.  Twice  the 
whole  company  had  to  lay  aside  the  baggage  and  assume 
arms,  when  Guy  Oscard  proved  himself  to  be  a  cool  and 
daring  leader.  Not  twice,  but  two  hundred  times,  the  ring 
of  Joseph's  unerring  rifle  sent  some  naked  savage  crawling 
into  the  brake  to  die,  with  a  sudden  wonder  in  his  half* 
awakened  brain.  They  could  not  afford  to  be  merciful ; 
their  own  safeguard  was  to  pass  through  this  country, 
leaving  a  track  of  blood  and  fire  and  dread  behind  them. 

This,  however,  is  no  record  of  travel  in  Central  Africa. 
There  are  many  such  to  be  had  at  any  circulating  library, 
written  by  abler  and  more  fantastic  pens.  Some  of  us  who 
have  wandered  in  the  darkest  continent  have  looked  in  vain 
for  things  seen  by  former  travellers — things  which,  as  the 
saying  is,  are  neither  here  nor  there.  Indeed,  there  is  not 
much  to  see  in  a  vast,  boundless  forest  with  little  life  and  no 
variety — nothing  but  a  deadly  monotony  of  twilight  tangle. 
There  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun— even  immediately 
under  it  in  Central  Africa.  The  only  novelty  is  the  human 
heart  —  Central  Man.  That  is  never  stale,  and  there  are 
depths  still  unexplored,  heights  still  unattained,  warm  rivers 
of  love,  cold  streams  of  hatred,  and  vast  plains  where  strange 
motives  grow.     These  are  our  business. 


BROUGHT  TO  THE  SCRATCH  145 

We  have  not  to  deal  so  much  with  the  finding  of  the 
Simiacine  as  with  the  finders,  and  of  these  the  chief  at 
this  time  was  Jack  Meredith.     It  seemed  quite  natural  that 
one  duty  after  another  should  devolve  upon  him,  and  he 
invariably  had  time  to  do  them  all,  and  leisure  to  comment 
pleasantly  upon  it.     But  his  chief  care  was  Victor  Durnovo. 
As  soon  as  they  entered  the  forest  two  hundred  miles 
above   Msala,  the   half-breed  was   a  changed   man.      The 
strange  restlessness    asserted   itself  again  —  the  man  was 
nervous,  eager,  sincere.      His  whole  being  was  given  up 
to  this  search ;    his  whole  heart  and  soul  were  enveloped 
in  it.     At  first  he  worked  steadily,  like  a  mariner  thread- 
ing his  way  through  known  waters ;  but  gradually  his  com- 
posure left  him,  and  he  became  incapable  of  doing  other 
work. 

Jack  Meredith  was  at  his  side  always.  By  day  he  walked 
near  him  as  he  piloted  the  column  through  the  trackless 
forest.  At  night  he  slept  in  the  same  tent,  stretched  across 
the  door-way.  Despite  the  enormous  fatigue,  he  slept  the 
light  sleep  of  the  townsman,  and  often  he  was  awakened  by 
Durnovo  talking  aloud,  groaning,  tossing  on  his  narrow  bed. 
When  they  had  been  on  the  march  for  two  months — 
piloted  with  marvellous  instinct  by  Durnovo  —  Meredith 
made  one  or  two  changes  in  the  organization.  The  cara- 
van naturally  moved  slowly,  owing  to  the  enormous  amount 
of  baggage  to  be  carried,  and  this  delay  seemed  to  irritate 
Victor  Durnovo  to  such  an  extent  that  at  last  it  was  obvi- 
ous that  the  man  would  go  mad  unless  this  enormous  ten- 
sion could  be  relieved. 

"  For  God's  sake,"  he  would  shout,  "  hurry  those  men 
on  !  We  haven't  done  ten  miles  to-day.  Another  man 
down — damn  him  !" 

And  more  than  once  he  had  to  be  dragged  forcibly  away 
from  the  fallen  porter,  whom  he  battered  with  both  fists. 
Had  he  had  his  will  he  would  have  allowed  no  time  for 
meals,  and  only  a  few  hours'  halt  for  rest,     Guy  Oscard  did 


146        ,  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

not  understand  it.  His  denser  nerves  were  incapable  of 
comprehending  the  state  of  irritation  and  unreasoning  rest- 
lessness into  which  the  climate  and  excitement  had  brought 
Durnovo.  But  Meredith,  in  his  finer  organization,  under- 
stood the  case  better.  He  it  was  who  soothingly  explained 
the  necessity  for  giving  the  men  a  longer  rest.  He  alone 
could  persuade  Durnovo  to  lie  down  at  night  and  cease  his 
perpetual  calculations.  The  man's  hands  were  so  unsteady 
that  he  could  hardly  take  the  sights  necessary  to  determine 
their  position  in  this  sea-like  waste.  And  to  Jack  alone  did 
Victor  Durnovo  ever  approach  the  precincts  of  mutual  con- 
fidence. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Meredith,"  he  said  one  day,  with  a  scared 
look,  after  a  particularly  violent  outburst  of  temper.  "  I 
don't  know  what  it  is.  I  sometimes  think  I'm  going 
mad." 

And  soon  after  that  the  change  was  made. 

An  advance  column,  commanded  by  Meredith  and  Dur- 
novo, was  selected  to  push  on  to  the  plateau,  while  Oscard 
and  Joseph  followed  more  leisurely  with  the  baggage  and 
the  slower  travellers. 

One  of  the  strangest  journeys  in  the  vast  unwritten  his- 
tory of  commercial  advance  was  that  made  by  the  five  men 
from  the  camp  of  the  main  expedition  across  the  lower 
slopes  of  a  mountain  range — unmarked  on  any  map,  un- 
named by  any  geographer  —  to  the  mysterious  Simiacine 
Plateau.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  the  wild,  bloodshot  eyes 
of  their  guide  could  pierce  the  density  of  the  forest  where 
Nature  had  held  unchecked,  untrimmed  sway  for  countless 
generations.  Victor  Durnovo  noted  a  thousand  indications 
unseen  by  his  four  companions.  The  journey  no  longer 
partook  of  the  nature  of  a  carefully  calculated  progress 
across  a  country  untrodden  by  a  white  man's  foot ;  it  was 
a  wild  rush  in  a  straight  line  through  unbroken  forest  fast- 
ness, guided  by  an  instinct  that  was  stronger  than  knowl- 
edge.    And  the  only  Englishman  in  the  party — Jack  Mere- 


BROUGHT  TO  THE  SCRATCH  149 

dith — bad  to  choose  between  madness  and  rest.  lie  knew 
enough  of  the  human  brain  to  be  convinced  that  the  only 
possible  relief  to  this  tension  was  success. 

Victor  Durnovo  would  never  know  rest  now  until  he 
reached  the  spot  where  the  Simiacine  should  be.  If  the 
trees  were  there,  growing,  as  he  said,  in  solitary  state  and 
order,  strangely  suggestive  of  human  handiwork,  then  Vic- 
tor Durnovo  was  saved.  If  no  such  spot  was  found,  mad- 
ness and  death  could  only  follow. 

To  save  his  companion's  reason,  Meredith  more  than  once 
drugged  his  food ;  but  when  the  land  began  to  rise  beneath 
their  feet  in  slight  billow-like  inequalities — the  deposit  of 
a  glacial  age  —  Durnovo  refused  to  stop  for  the  prepa- 
ration of  food.  Eating  dry  biscuits  and  stringy  tinned 
meat  as  they  went  along,  the  four  men  —  three  blacks 
and  one  white  — followed  in  the  footsteps  of  their  mad 
pilot. 

"  We're  getting  to  the  mountains — we're  getting  to  the 
mountains  !  We  shall  be  there  to-night !  Think  of  that, 
Meredith — to-night !"  he  kept  repeating  with  a  sickening 
monotony.  And  all  the  while  he  stumbled  on.  The  per- 
spiration ran  down  his  face  in  one  continuous  stream ;  at 
times  he  paused  to  wipe  it  from  his  eyes  with  the  back  of 
his  hands,  and  as  these  were  torn  and  bleeding  there  were 
smears  of  blood  across  his  cheeks. 

The  night  fell ;  the  moon  rose,  red  and  glorious,  and  the 
beasts  of  this  untrodden  forest  paused  in  their  search  for 
food  to  watch  with  wondering,  fearless  eyes  that  strange, 
unknown  animal — man. 

It  was  Durnovo  who,  climbing  wildly,  first  saw  the  break 
in  the  trees  ahead.  lie  gave  a  muffled  cry  of  delight,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  they  were  all  rushing,  like  men  possessed, 
up  a  bare  slope  of  broken  shale. 

Durnovo  reached  the  summit  first.  A  faint,  pleasant 
odor  was  wafted  into  their  faces.  They  stood  on  the  edge 
of  a  vast  table-land  melting  away  in  the  yellow  moonlight. 


148  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Studded  all  over,  like  sheep  in  a  meadow,  were  a  number  of 

little  bushes,  and  no  other  vegetation. 

Victor  Durnovo  stooped  over  one  of  these.     He  buried 

his  face  among  the  leaves  of  it,  and  suddenly  he  toppled 

over. 

"  Yes,"  he  cried,  as  he  fell,  "  it's  Simiaciue !" 

And  he  turned  over  with  a  groan  of  satisfaction,  and  lay 

like  a  dead  man. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE    FIRST    CONSIGNMENT 

"Since  all  that  I  can  ever  do  for  thee 
Is  to  do  nothing,  may'st  thou  never  see, 
Never  divine,  the  all  that  nothing  costeth  me." 

One  morning,  three  months  later,  Guy  Oscard  drew  up 
in  line  his  flying  column.  He  was  going  back  to  England 
with  the  first  consignment  of  Simiacine.  During  the  twelve 
weeks  that  lay  behind  there  had  been  constant  reference 
made  to  his  little  body  of  picked  men,  and  the  leader  had 
selected  with  a  grave  deliberation  that  promised  well. 

The  lost  soldier  that  was  in  him  was  all  astir  in  his  veins 
as  he  reviewed  his  command  in  the  cool  air  of  early  morn- 
ing. The  journey  from  Msala  to  the  plateau  had  occupied 
a  busy  two  months.  Oscard  expected  to  reach  Msala  with 
his  men  in  forty  days.  Piled  up  in  neat  square  cases,  such 
as  could  be  carried  in  pairs  by  a  man  of  ordinary  strength, 
was  the  crop  of  Simiacine,  roughly  valued  by  Victor  Dur- 
novo at  forty  thousand  pounds.  Ten  men  could  carry  the 
whole  of  it,  and  the  twenty  cases  set  close  together  on  the 
ground  made  a  bed  for  Guy  Oscard.  Upon  this  improvised 
couch  he  gravely  stretched  his  bulk  every  night  all  through 
the  journey  that  followed. 


THE    FIRST    CONSIGNMENT  149 

Over  the  whole  face  of  the  sparsely  vegetated  table-land 
the  dwarf  bushes  grew  at  intervals,  each  one  in  a  little  circle 
of  its  own,  where  no  grass  grew  ;  for  the  dead  leaves,  falling, 
poisoned  the  earth.  There  were  no  leaves  on  the  bushes 
now,  for  they  had  all  been  denuded,  and  the  twisted  branches 
stood  out  nakedly  in  the  morning  mist.  Some  of  the 
bushes  had  been  roughly  pruned,  to  foster,  if  possible,  a 
more  bushy  growth  and  a  heavier  crop  of  leaves  near  to  the 
parent  stem. 

It  was  a  strange  landscape ;  and  any  passing  traveller, 
knowing  nothing  of  the  Simiacine,  must  perforce  have  seen 
at  once  that  these  insignificant  little  trees  were  something 
quite  apart  in  the  vegetable  kingdom.  Each  standing 
within  its  magic  circle,  no  bird  built  its  nest  within  the 
branches — no  insect  constructed  its  filmy  home — no  spider 
weaved  its  busy  web  from  twig  to  twig. 

Solitary,  mournful,  lifeless,  the  plateau  which  had  nearly 
cost  Victor  Durnovo  his  life  lay  beneath  the  face  of  heaven, 
far  above  the  surrounding  country — the  summit  of  an  un- 
named mountain  —  a  land  lying  in  the  heart  of  a  tropic 
country  which  was  neither  tropic,  temperate,  nor  arctic. 
Fauna  had  it  none,  for  it  produced  nothing  that  could  sus- 
tain life.  Flora  it  knew  not,  for  the  little  trees,  each  with 
its  perennial  fortune  of  brilliant  brown  -  tinted  leaves,  mo- 
nopolized vegetable  life  and  slew  all  comers.  It  seemed 
like  some  stray  tract  of  another  planet,  where  the  condition 
of  living  things  was  different.  There  was  a  strange  sense 
of  having  been  thrown  up — thrown  up,  as  it  were,  into  mid- 
heaven,  there  to  hang  forever — neither  this  world  nor  the 
world  to  come.  The  silence  of  it  all  was  such  as  would 
drive  men  mad  if  they  came  to  think  of  it.  It  was  the  si- 
lence of  the  stars. 

The  men  who  had  lived  up  here  for  three  months  did 
not  look  quite  natural.  There  was  a  singular  heaviness  of 
the  eyelids  which  all  had  noticed,  though  none  had  spoken 
of  it.     A  craving  for  animal  food,  which  could  only  be 


150  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

stayed  by  the  consumption  of  abnormal  quantities  or  meat, 
kept  the  hunters  ever  at  work  on  the  lower  slopes  of  the 
mountain.  Sleep  was  broken,  and  uncanny  things  happened 
in  the  night.  Men  said  that  they  saw  other  men  like  trees, 
walking  abroad  with  sightless  eyes ;  and  Joseph  said,  "  Gam- 
mon, my  festive  darky — gammon!"  but  he  nevertheless 
glanced  somewhat  uneasily  towards  his  master  whenever  the 
natives  said  such  things. 

A  clearing  had  been  made  on  that  part  of  the  plateau 
which  was  most  accessible  from  below.  The  Simiacine- 
trees  had  been  ruthlessly  cut  away — even  the  roots  were 
grubbed  up  and  burned — far  away  on  the  leeward  side  of  the 
little  kingdom.  This  was  done  because  there  arose  at  sun- 
set a  soft  and  pleasant  odor  from  the  bushes  which  seemed 
to  affect  the  nerves  and  even  made  the  teeth  chatter.  It 
was  therefore  deemed  wise  that  the  camp  should  stand  on 
bare  ground. 

It  was  on  this  ground,  in  front  of  the  tents,  that  Guy 
Oscard  drew  up  his  quick-marching  column  before  the  sun 
had  sprung  up  in  its  fantastic  tropical  way  from  the  distant 
line  of  virgin  forest.  As  he  walked  along  the  line,  making 
a  suggestion  here,  pulling  on  a  shoulder-rope  there,  he 
looked  stanch  and  strong  as  any  man  might  wish  to  be. 
His  face  was  burned  so  brown  that  eyebrows  and  mustache 
stood  out  almost  blond,  though  in  reality  they  were  only 
brown.  His  eyes  did  not  seem  to  be  suffering  from  the  heav- 
iness noticeable  in  others  ;  altogether,  the  climate  and  the 
mystic  breath  of  the  Simiacine  grove  did  not  appear  to  affect 
him  as  it  did  his  companions.  This  was  probably  accounted 
for  by  the  fact  that,  being  chief  of  the  hunters,  most  of  his 
days  had  been  passed  on  the  lower  slopes  in  search  of  game. 

To  him  came  presently  Jack  Meredith — the  same  gentle- 
mannered  man,  with  an  incongruously  brown  face  and  quick 
eyes  seeing  all.  It  is  not,  after  all,  the  life  that  makes  the 
man.  There  are  gentle  backwoodsmen,  and  ruffians  among 
those  who  live  in  drawing-rooms. 


THE    FIRST    CONSIGNMENT  151 

"  Well  ?"  said  Meredith,  following  the  glance  of  his 
friend's  eye  as  he  surveyed  his  men. 

Oscard  took  his  pipe  from  his  lips  and  looked  gravely  at 
him. 

"  Don't  half  like  it,  you  know,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice ; 
for  Durnovo  was  talking  with  a  head-porter  a  few  yards 
away. 

-  Don't  half  like  what  —  the  flavor  of  that  pipe  ?  It 
looks  a  little  strong." 

"  No,  leaving  you  here,"  replied  Oscard. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,  old  chap  !  You  can't  take  me  with 
you,  you  know.  I  intended  to  stick  to  it  when  I  camp- 
away  from  home,  and  I  am  not  going  to  turn  back  now." 

Oscard  gave  a  queer  little  upward  jerk  of  the  head,  as  if 
he  had  just  collected  further  evidence  in  support  of  a 
theory  which  chronically  surprised  him.  Then  he  turned 
away  and  looked  down  over  the  vast  untrodden  tract  of  Africa 
that  lay  beneath  them.  He  kept  his  eyes  fixed  there,  after 
the  manner  of  a  man  who  has  no  fluency  in  personal  com- 
ment. 

"  You  know,"  he  said,  jerkily,  "  I  didn't  think — I  mean 
you're  not  the  sort  of  chap  I  took  you  for.  When  I  first 
saw  you  I  thought  you  were  a  bit  of  a  dandy  and — all 
that.  Not  the  sort  of  man  for  this  work.  I  thought  that 
the  thing  was  bound  to  be  a  failure.  I  knew  Durnovo,  and 
had  no  faith  in  him.  You've  got  a  gentle  way  about  you, 
and  your  clothes  are  so  confoundedly  neat.  But — "  Here 
he  paused  and  pulled  down  the  folds  of  his  Norfolk  jacket. 
"  But  I  liked  the  way  you  shot  that  leopard  the  day  we 
first  met." 

"  Beastly  fluke,"  put  in  Meredith,  with  his  pleasant 
laugh. 

Oscard  contented  himself  with  a  denying  shake  of  the 
head. 

"  Of  course,"  he  continued,  with  obvious  determination 
to  get  it  all  off  his  mind,  "  I  know  as  well  as  you  do   that 


152  "WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

you  are  the  chief  of  this  concern — have  been  chief  since  we 
left  Msala — and  I  never  want  to  work  under  a  better  man." 

He  put  his  pipe  back  between  his  lips  and  turned  round 
with  a  contented  smile,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  There,  that  is 
the  sort  of  man  I  am !  When  I  want  to  say  that  sort  of 
thing  I  can  say  it  with  the  best  of  you." 

"  We  have  pulled  along  very  comfortably,  haven't  we  ?" 
said  Meredith ;  "  thanks  to  your  angelic  temper.  And 
you'll  deliver  that  packet  of  letters  to  the  governor,  won't 
you  ?  I  have  sent  them  in  one  packet,  addressed  to  him,  as 
it  is  easier  to  carry.  I  will  let  you  hear  of  us  somehow 
within  the  next  six  months.  Do  not  go  and  get  married 
before  I  get  home.     I  want  to  be  your  best  man." 

Oscard  laughed  and  gave  the  signal  for  the  men  to  start, 
and  the  long  caravan  defiled  before  them.  The  porters 
nodded  ts>  Meredith  with  a  great  display  of  white  teeth, 
while  the  neadmen,  the  captains  of  tens,  stepped  out  of  the 
ranks  and  shook  hands. 

Before  they  had  disappeared  over  the  edge  of  the  plateau 
Joseph  came  forward  to  say  good-bye  to  Oscard. 

"  And  it  is  understood,"  said  the  latter,  "  that  I  pay  in 
to  your  account  at  Lloyd's  Bank  your  share  of  the  pro- 
ceeds." 

Joseph  grinned.  "  Yes,  sir,  if  you  please,  presumin'  it'i 
a  safe  bank."  - 

"  Safe  as  houses." 

"  Cos  it's  a  tolerable  big  amount,"  settling  himself  into 
his  boots  in  the  manner  of  a  millionaire. 

"  Lots  of  money — about  four  hundred  pounds !  But 
you  can  trust  me  to  see  to  it  all  right." 

'"  No  fear,  sir,"  replied  Joseph,  grandly.  "  I'm  quit*-  con- 
tent, I'm  sure,  that  you  should  have  the — fingering  o'  the 
dibs." 

As  be  finished — somewhat  lamely,  perhaps — his  rounded 
periods,  he  looked  very  deliberately  over  Oscard's  shoulder 
towards  Durnovo,  who  was  approaching  them. 


THE    FIRST    CONSIGNMENT  153 

Meredith  walked  a  little  way  down  the  slope  with  Oscard. 

"  Good-bye,  old  cbap  !"  be  said,  when  the  parting  came. 
"  Good-luck,  and  all  that.  Hope  you  will  find  all  right  at 
home.  By-the-way,"  he  shouted  after  him,  "give  my  kind 
regards  to  the  Gordons  at  Loango." 

And  so  the  first  consignment  of  Simiacine  was  sent  from 
the  plateau  to  the  coast. 

Guy  Oscard  was  one  of  those  deceptive  men  who  only 
do  a  few  things,  and  do  those  few  very  well.  In  forty- 
three  days  he  deposited  the  twenty  precious  cases  in  Gor- 
don's godowns  at  Loango,  and  paid  off  the  porters,  of  whom 
he  had  not  lost  one.  These  duties  performed,  he  turned 
his  steps  towards  the  bungalow.  He  had  refused  Gordon's 
invitation  to  stay  with  him  until  the  next  day,  when  the 
coasting  steamer  was  expected.  To  tell  the  truth,  he  was 
not  very  much  prepossessed  in  Maurice's  favor,  and  it  was 
with  a  doubtful  mind  that  he  turned  his  steps  towards  the 
little  house  in  the  forest  between  Loango  and  the  sea. 

The  room  was  the  first  surprise  that  awaited  him,  its 
youthful  mistress  the  second.  Guy  Oscard  was  rather 
afraid  of  most  women.  He  did  not  understand  them,  and 
probably  he  despised  them.  Men  who  are  afraid  or  igno- 
rant often  do. 

"And  when  did  you  leave  them?"  asked  Jocelyn,  after 
her  visitor  had  explained  who  he  was.  He  was  rather 
taken  aback  by  so  much  dainty  refinement  in  remote  Africa, 
and  explained  rather  badly.  But  she  helped  him  out  by 
intimating  that  she  knew  all  about  him. 

"  I  left  them  forty-four  days  ago,"  he  replied. 

"  And  were  they  well  ?" 

"  She  is  very  much  interested,"  reflected  Oscard,  upon 
whom  her  eagerness  of  manner  had  not  been  lost.  "  Sureiy, 
it  cannot  be  that  fellow  Durnovo?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  replied,  with  unconscious  curtness. 

"  Mr.  Durnovo  cannot  ever  remain  inland  for  long  with- 
out feeling  the  effect  of  the  climate." 


154  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Guy  Oscard,  with  the  perspicacity  of  his  sex,  gobbled  up 
the  bait.     "  It  is  Durnovo,"  he  reflected. 

"  Oh,  he  is  all  right,"  he  said  ;  "  wonderfully  well,  and  so 
are  the  others  —  Joseph  and  Meredith.  You  know  Mere- 
dith ?" 

Jocelyu  was  busy  with  a  vase  of  flowers  standing  on  the 
table  at  her  elbow.  One  of  the  flowers  had  fallen  half  out, 
and  she  was  replacing  it — very  carefully. 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  said,  without  ceasing  her  occupation,  "  we 
know  Mr.  Meredith." 

The  visitor  did  not  speak  at  once,  and  she  looked  up  at 
him,  over  the  flowers,  with  grave  politeness. 

"  Meredith,"  he  said,  "  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
men  I  have  ever  met." 

It  was  evident  that  this  ordinarily  taciturn  man  wanted 
to  unburden  his  mind.  He  was  desirous  of  talking  to  some 
one  of  Jack  Meredith ;  and  perhaps  Jocelyn  reflected  that 
she  was  as  good  a  listener  as  he  would  find  in  Loango. 

"  Really,"  she  replied,  with  a  kindly  interest.     "  How?" 

He  paused,  not  because  he  found  it  difficult  to  talk  to 
this  woman,  but  because  he  was  thinking  of  something. 

"  I  have  read  or  heard  somewhere  of  a  steel  gauntlet  be- 
neath a  velvet  glove." 

"Yes." 

"That  describes  Meredith.  He  is  not  the  man  I  took 
him  for.  He  is  so  wonderfully  polite  and  gentle  and  pleas- 
ant. Not  the  qualities  that  make  a  good  leader  for  an 
African  exploring  expedition — eh?" 

Jocelyn  gave  a  strange  little  laugh,  which  included,  among 
other  things,  a  subtle  intimation  that  she  rather  liked  Guy 
Oscard.  Women  do  convey  these  small  meanings  some- 
times, but  one  finds  that  they  do  not  intend  them  to  be 
acted  upon. 

"  And  he  has  kept  well  all  the  time  ?"  she  asked,  softly. 
"  He  did  not  look  strong." 

"  Oh  yes.     He  is  much  stronger  than  he  looks." 


THE    FIRST   CONSIGNMENT  155 

"And  you — you  have  been  all  right?" 

"Yes,  thanks." 

"  Are  you  going  back  to — them  ?" 

"  No,  I  leave  to-morrow  morning  early  by  the  Portuguese 
boat.     I  am  going  home  to  be  married." 

"  Indeed  !  Then  I  suppose  you  will  wash  your  hands  of 
Africa  forever  ?" 

"  Not  quite,"  he  replied.  "  I  told  Meredith  that  I  would 
be  prepared  to  go  up  to  him  in  case  of  emergency,  but  not 
otherwise.  I  shall,  of  course,  still  be  interested  in  the 
scheme.  I  take  home  the  first  consignment  of  Simiacine; 
we  have  been  very  successful,  you  know.  I  shall  have  to 
stay  in  London  to  sell  that.     I  have  a  house  there." 

"Are  you  to  be  married  at  once?"  inquired  Jocelyn, 
with  that  frank  interest  which  makes  it,  so  much  easier  for 
a  man  to  talk  of  his  own  affairs  to  a  woman  than  to  one  of 
his  own  sex. 

"As  soon  as  I  can  arrange  it,"  he  answered,  with  a  little 
laugh.  "There  is  nothing  to  wait  for.  We  are  both 
orphans,  and,  fortunately,  we  are  fairly  well  off." 

lie  was  fumbling  in  his  breast-pocket,  and  presently  he 
rose,  crossed  the  room,  and  handed  her,  quite  without  after- 
thought or  self-consciousness,  a  photograph  in  a  morocco 
case. 

Explanation  was  unnecessary,  and  Jocelyn  Gordon  looked 
smilingly  upon  a  smiling,  bright  young  face. 

"  She  is  very  pretty,"  she  said,  honestly. 

Whereupon  Guy  Oscard  grunted  unintelligibly. 

"  Millicent,"  he  said,  after  a  little  pause — "  Millicent  is  her 
name." 

"Millicent?"  repeated  Jocelyn — "Millicent  what/" 

"  Millicent  Chyne." 

Jocelyn  folded  the  morocco  case  together  and  handed  it 
back  to  him. 

"  She  is  very  pretty,"  she  repeated  slowly,  as  if  her  mind 
could  only  reproduce — it  was  incapable  of  creation. 


156  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Oscard  looked  puzzled.  Having  risen,  he  did  not  sit  down 
again,  and  presently  he  took  his  leave,  feeling  convinced  that 
Jocelyu  was  about  to  faint. 

When  he  was  gone  the  girl  sat  wearily  down. 

"  Millicent  Chyne,"  she  whispered.  "  What  is  to  be 
done?" 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered  to  herself  after  a  while.  "Noth- 
ing.    It  is  not  my  business.     I  can  do  nothing." 

She  sat  there — alone,  as  she  had  been  all  her  life — until 
the  short  tropical  twilight  fell  over  the  forest.  Quite  sud- 
denly she  burst  into  tears. 

"  It  is  my  business,"  she  sobbed.  "  It  is  no  good  pretend- 
ing otherwise ;  but  I  can  do  nothing." 


CHAPTER  XXII 
THE    SECOND    CONSIGNMENT 

"  Who  has  lost  all  hope  has  also  lost  all  fear." 

Among  others,  it  was  a  strange  thing  that  Jocelyn  felt  no 
surprise  at  meeting  the  name  of  Millicent  Chyne  on  the  lips 
of  another  man.  Women  understand  these  things  better 
than  we  do.  They  understand  each  other,  and  they  seem 
to  have  a  practical  way  of  accepting  human  nature  as  it  is 
which  we  never  learn  to  apply  to  our  fellow-men.  They 
never  bluster  as  we  do,  nor  expect  impossibilities  from  the 
frail. 

Another  somewhat  singular  residue  left,  as  it  were,  in 
Joceiyn's  mind  when  the  storm  of  emotion  had  subsided  was 
a  certain  indefinite  tenderness  for  Millicent  Chyne.  She  felt 
sure  that  Jack  Meredith's  feeling  for  her  was  that  feeling 
vaguely  called  the  right  one,  and,  as  such,  unalterable.  To 
this  knowledge  the  subtle  sympathy  for  Millicent  was  per- 


THE    SECOND    CONSIGNMENT  157 

haps  attributable.  But  navigation  with  pen  and  thought 
among  the  shoals  and  depths  of  a  woman's  heart  is  hazard- 
ous and  uncertain. 

Coupled  with  this — as  only  a  woman  could  couple  contra- 
dictions— was  an  unpardoning  abhorrence  for  the  deceit 
practised.  But  Jocelyn  knew  the  world  well  enough  to  sus- 
pect that,  if  she  were  ever  brought  face  to  face  with  her 
meanness,  Millicent  would  be  able  to  bring  about  her  own 
forgiveness.  It  is  the  knowledge  of  this  lamentable  fact  that 
undermines  the  feminine  sense  of  honor. 

Lastly,  there  was  a  calm  acceptance  of  the  fact  that  Guy 
Oscard  must  and  would  inevitably  go  to  the  wall.  There 
could  be  no  comparison  between  the  two  men.  Millicent 
Chyne  could  scarcely  hesitate  for  a  moment.  That  she 
herself  must  likewise  suffer  uncomplainingly,  inevitably, 
seemed  to  be  an  equally  natural  consequence  in  Jocelyn 
Gordon's  mind. 

She  could  not  go  to  Jack  Meredith  and  say : 

"  This  woman  is  deceiving  you,  but  I  love  you,  and  my 
love  is  a  nobler,  grander  thing  than  hers.  It  is  no  passing 
fancy  of  a  giddy,  dazzled  girl,  but  the  deep,  strong  passion 
of  a  woman  almost  in  the  middle  of  her  life.  It  is  a  love 
so  complete,  so  sufficing,  that  I  know  I  could  make  you 
forget  this  girl.  I  could  so  envelop  you  with  love,  so 
watch  over  you  and  care  for  you,  and  tend  you  and  under- 
stand you,  that  you  must  be  happy.  I  feel  that  I  could 
make  you  happier  than  any  other  woman  in  the  world  could 
make  you." 

Jocelyn  Gordon  coald  not  do  this;  and  all  the  advanced 
females  in  the  world,  all  the  blue- stockings  and  divided 
skirts,  all  the  wild  women  and  those  who  pant  for  burdens 
other  than  children  will  never  bring  it  to  pass  that  women 
can  say  such  things. 

And  precisely  because  she  could  not  say  this  Jooelyn  felt 
hot  and  sick  at  the  very  thought  that  Jack  Meredith  should 
learn  aught  of  Millicent  Chyne  from  her.     Her  own  inner 


158  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

motive  in  divulging  what  she  had  learned  from  Guy  Oscard 
could  never  for  a  moment  be  hidden  behind  a  wish,  however 
sincere,  to  act  for  the  happiness  of  two  honorable  gentle- 
men. 

Jocelyn  had  no  one  to  consult — no  one  to  whom  she 
could  turn,  in  the  maddening  difficulty  of  her  position,  for 
advice  or  sympathy.  She  had  to  work  it  out  by  herself, 
steering  through  the  quicksands  by  that  compass  that  knows 
no  deviation — the  compass  of  her  own  honor  and  maidenly 
reserve. 

Just  because  she  was  so  sure  of  her  own  love  she  felt  that 
she  could  never  betray  the  falseness  of  Millicent  Chyne. 
She  felt  somehow  that  Millicent's  fall  in  Jack  Meredith's 
estimation  would  drag  down  with  it  the  whole  of  her  sex, 
and  consequently  herself.  She  did  not  dare  to  betray 
Millicent,  because  the  honor  of  her  sex  must  be  held  up  by 
an  exaggerated  honor  in  herself.  Thus  her  love  for  Jack 
Meredith  tied  her  hands  while  she  stood  idly  by  to  see 
him  wreck  his  own  life  by  what  could  only  be  a  miserable 
union. 

With  the  clear  sight  of  the  on-looker  Jocelyn  Gordon  now 
saw  that,  by  Jack  Meredith's  own  showing,  Millicent  was 
quite  unworthy  of  him.  But  she  also  remembered  words, 
silences,  and  hints  which  demonstrated  with  lamentable 
plainness  the  fact  that  he  loved  her.  She  was  old  enough 
and  sufficiently  experienced  to  avoid  the  futile  speculation 
as  to  what  had  attracted  this  love.  She  knew  that  men 
marry  women  who  in  the  estimation  of  on-looking  relatives 
are  unworthy  of  them,  and  live  happily  ever  afterwards 
without  deeming  it  necessary  to  explain  to  those  relatives 
how  it  comes  about. 

Now  it  happened  that  this  woman — Jocelyn  Gordon — 
was  not  one  of  those  who  gracefully  betray  themselves  at 
the  right  moment  and  are  immediately  covered  with  a  most 
becoming  confusion.  She  was  strong  to  hold  to  her  pur- 
pose, to  subdue  herself,  to  keep  silent.     And  this  task  she 


THE    SECOND    CONSIGNMENT  159 

set  herself,  having  thought  it  all  carefully  out  in  the  little 
flower-scented  veranda,  so  full  of  pathetic  association.  But 
it  must  be  remembered  that  she  in  no  wise  seemed  to  see  the 
pathos  in  her  own  life.  She  was  unconscious  of  romance. 
It  was  all  plain  fact,  and  the  plainest  was  her  love  for  Jack 
Meredith. 

Her  daily  life  was  in  no  perceptible  way  changed.  Maurice 
Gordon  saw  no  difference.  She  had  never  been  an  hilarious 
person.  Now  she  went  about  her  household,  her  kindnesses, 
and  unobtrusive  good  works  with  a  quieter  mien  ;  but,  when 
occasion  or  social  duty  demanded,  she  seemed  perhaps  a 
little  readier  than  before  to  talk  of  indifferent  topics,  to 
laugh  at  indifferent  wit.  Those  who  have  ears  to  hear  and 
eyes  wherewith  to  see  learn  to  distrust  the  laugh  that  is 
too  ready,  the  sympathy  that  flows  in  too  broad  a  stream. 
Happiness  is  self-absorbed. 

Four  months  elapsed,  and  the  excitement  created  in  the 
small  world  of  Western  Africa  by  the  first  dazzling  success 
of  the  Simiacine  Expedition  began  to  subside.  The  thing 
took  its  usual  course.  At  first  the  experts  disbelieved,  and 
then  they  prophesied  that  it  could  not  last.  Finally,  the 
active  period  of  envy,  hatred,  and  malice  gave  way  to  a 
sullen  tolerance  not  unmixed  with  an  indefinite  grudge  tow- 
ards Fortune  who  had  favored  the  brave  once  more. 

Maurice  Gordon  was  in  daily  expectation  of  news  from 
that  far-off  favored  spot  they  vaguely  called  the  Plateau. 
And  Jocelyn  did  not  pretend  to  conceal  from  herself  the 
hope  that  filled  her  whole  being — the  hope  that  Jack  Mere- 
dith might  bring  the  news  in  person. 

Instead,  came  Victor  Durnovo. 

He  came  upon  her  one  evening  when  she  was  walking 
slowly  home  from  a  mild  tea-party  at  the  house  of  a 
missionary.  Hearing  footsteps  on  the  sandy  soil,  she  turned, 
and  found  herself  face  to  face  with  Durnovo. 

"  Ah !"  she  exclaimed,  and  her  voice  thrilled  with  sorno 
emotion  which  he  did  not  understand.     "  Ah,  it  is  you." 


160  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  holding  her  hand  a  little  longer  than  was 
necessary.     "  It  is  I." 

His  journey  from  Msala  through  the  more  civilized  reaches 
of  the  lower  river,  his  voyage  in  the  coasting-boat,  and  his 
arrival  at  Loango,  had  partaken  of  the  nature  of  a  triumphal 
progress.  Victor  Durnovo  was  elated — like  a  girl  in  a  new 
dress. 

"I  was  coming  along  to  see  you,"  he  said,  and  there  was 
a  subtle  offence  in  his  tone. 

She  did  not  trouble  to  tell  him  that  Maurice  was  away 
for  ten  days.  She  felt  that  he  knew  that.  There  was  a 
certain  truculence  in  his  walk  which  annoyed  her,  but  she 
was  wonderingly  conscious  of  the  fact  that  she  was  no  long- 
er afraid  of  him.  This  feeling  had  as  yet  taken  no  definite 
shape.  She  did  not  know  what  she  felt,  but  she  knew  that 
there  was  no  fear  in  her  mind. 

"  Have  you  been  successful  ?"  she  asked,  with  a  certain 
negative  kindness  of  tone  bred  of  this  new  self-confidence. 

"I  should  think  we  had.  Why,  the  lot  that  Oscard 
brought  down  was  a  fortune  in  itself.  But  you  saw  Oscard, 
of  course.     Did  he  stay  at  the  bungalow  ?" 

"  No  ;  he  stayed  at  the  hotel." 

"  Did  you  like  him  ?" 

The  question  was  accompanied  by  a  momentary  glance 
of  the  dark,  jealous  eyes. 

"  Yes,  very  much." 

"  He  is  a  nice  fellow — first-rate  fellow.  Of  course,  he  has 
his  faults,  but  he  and  I  got  on  splendidly.  He's — engaged, 
you  know." 

"  So  he  told  me." 

Durnovo  glanced  at  her  again  searchingly,  and  looked 
relieved.     He  gave  an  awkward  little  laugh. 

"And  I  understand,"  he  said,  "that  Meredith  is  in  the 
same  enviable  position." 

"Indeed!" 

Durnovo  indulged  in  a  meaning  silence, 


THE    SECOND    CONSIGNMENT  161 

"  When  do  you  go  back  ?"  she  asked,  carelessly. 

"  Almost  at  once,"  in  a  tone  that  apologized  for  causing 
her  necessary  pain.  "  I  must  leave  to-morrow  or  the  next 
day.  I  do  not  like  the  idea  of  Meredith  being  left  too  long 
alone  up  there  with  a  reduced  number  of  men.  Of  course, 
I  had  to  bring  a  pretty  large  escort.  I  brought  down  sixty 
thousand  pounds'  worth  of  Simiacine." 

"  Yes,"  she  said ;  "  and  you  take  all  the  men  back  to-mor- 
row ?" 

He  did  not  remember  having  stated  for  certain  that  he 
was  leaving  the  next  day. 

"  Or  the  day  after,"  he  amended. 

"  Have  you  had  any  more  sickness  among  the  men  ?"  she 
asked  at  once,  in  a  tone  of  half-veiled  sarcasm  which  made 
him  wince. 

"No,"  he  answered;  "they  have  been  quite  all  right." 

"What  time  do  you  start?"  she  asked.  "There  are 
letters  for  Mr.  Meredith  at  the  office.  Maurice's  head-clerk 
will  give  them  to  you." 

She  knew  that  these  letters  were  from  Millicent.  She 
had  actually  had  them  in  her  hand.  She  had  inhaled  the 
faint,  refined  scent  of  the  paper  and  envelopes. 

"You  will  be  careful  that  they  are  not  lost,  won't  you?" 
she  said,  tearing  at  her  own  heart  with  a  strange  love  of  the 
pain.     "  They  may  be  important." 

"Oh,  I  will  deliver  them  sharp  enough,"  he  answered. 
"  I  suppose  I  had  better  start  to-morrow." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  she  replied  quietly,  with  that  gentle 
mendacity  which  can  scarcely  be  grudged  to  women  be- 
cause they  are  so  poorly  armed.  "  I  should  think  so.  You 
know  what  these  men  are.  Every  hour  they  have  in  Loango 
demoralizes  them  more  and  more." 

They  had  reached  the  gate  of  the  bungalow  garden.  She 
turned  and  held  out  her  hand  in  an  undeniable  manner. 
He  bade  her  good-bye  and  went  his  way,  wondering  vaguely 
what  had  happened  to  them  both.     The  conversation  had 


162  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

taken  quite  a  different  turn  to  what  he  had  expected  and 
intended.  But  somehow  it  had  got  beyond  his  control. 
He  had  looked  forward  to  a  very  different  ending  to  the 
interview.  And  now  he  found  himself  returning  somewhat 
disconsolately  to  the  wretched  hotel  in  Loango — dismissed 
— sent  back. 

The  next  day  he  actually  left  the  little  West  African 
Coast  town,  turning  his  face  northward  with  bad  grace. 
Even  at  that  distance  he  feared  Jack  Meredith's  half-veiled 
sarcasm.  He  knew  that  nothing  could  be  hidden  for  long 
from  the  Englishman's  suavely  persistent  inquiry  and  de- 
duction. Besides,  the  natives  were  no  longer  safe.  Mere- 
dith, with  the  quickness  of  a  cultured  linguist,  had  picked 
up  enough  of  their  language  to  understand  them,  while 
Joseph  talked  freely  with  them  in  that  singular  mixture  of 
slang  and  vernacular  which  follows  the  redcoat  all  over  the 
world.  Durnovo  had  only  been  allowed  to  come  down  to 
the  coast  under  a  promise,  gracefully  veiled  but  distinct 
enough,  that  he  should  only  remain  twenty  hours  in  Loango. 

Jocelyn  avoided  seeing  him  again.  She  was  forced  to 
forego  the  opportunity  of  hearing  much  that  she  wanted 
to  learn,  because  Durnovo,  the  source  of  the  desired  knowl- 
edge, was  unsafe.  But  the  relief  from  the  suspense  of  the 
last  few  months  was  in  itself  a  consolation.  All  seemed  to 
be  going  on  well  at  the  plateau.  Danger  is  always  dis- 
counted at  sight,  and  Jocelyn  felt  comparatively  easy  re- 
specting the  present  welfare  of  Jack  Meredith,  living  as  she 
did  on  the  edge  of  danger. 

Four  days  later  she  was  riding  through  the  native  town 
of  Loango,  accompanied  by  a  lady  -  friend,  when  she  met 
Victor  Durnovo.  The  sight  of  him  gave  her  a  distinct 
shock.  She  knew  that  he  had  left  Loango  three  days 
before  with  all  his  men.  There  was  no  doubt  about  that. 
Moreover,  his  air  was  distinctly  furtive — almost  scared.  It 
was  evident  that  the  chance  meeting  was  as  undesired  by 
him  as  it  was  surprising  to  her. 


MERCURY  163 

"I  thought  you  had  left,"  she  said  shortly,  pulling  up 
her  horse  with  undeniable  decision. 

"  Yes  .  .  .  but  I  have  come  back — for,  for  more  men." 
She  knew  he  was  lying,  and  he  felt  that  she  knew. 
"  Indeed  !"  she  said.    "  You  are  not  ...  a  good  starter." 
She  turned  her  horse's  head,  nodded  to  her  friend,  bowed 
coldly  to  Durnovo,  and  trotted  towards  home.     When  she 
had  reached  the  corner  of  the  rambling  ill-paved  street  she 
touched  her  horse.     The  animal  responded.     It  broke  into 
a  gentle  canter,  which  made  the  little  children  cease  their 
play  and  stare.     In  the  forest  she  applied  the  spur,  and  be- 
neath the  whispering  trees,  over  the  silent  sand,  the  girl 
galloped  home  as  fast  as  her  horse  could  lay  legs  to  ground. 
Jocelyn  Gordon  was  one  of  those  women  who  rise  slowly 
to  the  occasion,  and  the  limit  of  their  power  seems  at  times 
to  be  only  defined  by  the  greatness  of  the  need. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

MERCURY 

"So  cowards  never  use  their  might 
But  against  such  that  will  not  fight." 

On  nearing  the  bungalow  Jocelyn  turned  aside  into  the 
forest  where  a  little  colony  of  huts  nestled  in  a  hollow  of 
the  sand-dunes. 

"  Nala,"  she  cried,  "the  paddle  -  maker.  Ask  him  to 
come  to  me." 

She  spoke  in  the  dialect  of  the  coast  to  some  women  who 
sat  together  before  one  of  the  huts. 

"Nala  —  yes,"  they  answered.  And  they  raised  their 
strident  voices. 

In  a  few  moments  a  man  emerged  from  a  shed  of  banana- 


164  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

leaves.  He  was  a  scraggy  man — very  lightly  clad — and  a 
violent  squint  handicapped  him  seriously  in  the  matter  of 
first  impressions.  When  he  saw  Jocelyn  he  dropped  his 
burden  of  wood  and  ran  towards  her.  The  African  negro 
does  not  cringe.  He  is  a  proud  man  in  his  way.  If  he  is 
properly  handled  he  is  not  only  trustworthy  —  he  is  some- 
thing stronger.     Nala  grinned  as  he  ran  towards  Jocelyn. 

"  Nala,"  she  said,  "  will  you  go  a  journey  for  me?" 

"  I  will  go  at  once." 

"  I  came  to  you,"  said  Jocelyn,  "  because  I  know  that 
you  are  an  intelligent  man  and  a  great  traveller." 

"  I  have  travelled  much,"  he  answered,  "  when  I  was 
younger." 

"Before  you  were  married?"  said  the  English  girl. 
"  Before  little  Nala  came  ?" 

The  man  grinned. 

He  looked  back  over  his  shoulder  towards  one  of  the  huts 
where  a  scraggy  infant  with  a  violent  squint  lay  on  its 
stomach  on  the  sand. 

"  Where  do  you  wish  me  to  go  ?"  asked  the  proud  father. 

"To  Msala,  on  the  Cteowe  River." 

"  I  know  the  Ogowe.  I  have  been  to  Msala,"  with  the 
grave  nod  of  a  great  traveller. 

"  When  can  you  leave  ?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Now." 

Jocelyn  had  her  purse  in  her  hand. 

"  You  can  hire  a  dhow,"  she  said ;  "  and  on  the  river  you 
may  have  as  many  rowers  as  you  like.     You  must  go  very 
quickly  to  Msala.     There  you  must  ask  about  the  English 
man's  expedition.     You  have  heard  of  it  ?" 

"  Yes ;  the  Englishman  Durnovo,  and  the  soldier  who 
laughs." 

"  Yes.  Some  of  the  men  are  at  Msala  now.  They  were 
going  up-country  to  join  the  other  Englishman  far  away — 
near  the  mountains.     They  have  stopped  at  Msala.     Find 


MERCURY  165 

out  why  they  have  not  gone  on,  and  come  back  very  quick- 
ly to  tell  me.     You  understand,  Nala?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  I  can  trust  you  ?" 

"Yes;  because  you  cured  the  little  one  when  he  had  an 
evil  spirit.     Yes,  you  can  trust  me." 

She  gave  him  money  and  rode  on  home.  Before  she 
reached  the  bungalow  the  paddle-maker  passed  her  at  a  trot, 
going  towards  the  sea. 

She  waited  for  three  days,  and  then  Victor  Durnovo  came 
again.  Maurice  was  still  away.  There  was  an  awful  sense 
of  impending  danger  in  the  very  air — in  the  loneliness  of  her 
position.  Yet  she  was  not  afraid  of  Duruovo.  She  had 
left  that  fear  behind.  She  went  to  the  drawing-room  to  see 
him,  full  of  resolution. 

"  I  could  not  go  away,"  he  said,  after  relinquishing  her 
hand,  "  without  coming  to  see  you." 

Jocelyn  said  nothing.  The  scared  look  which  she  had 
last  seen  in  his  face  was  no  longer  there ;  but  the  eyes  were 
full  of  lies. 

"  Jocelyn,"  the  man  went  on,  "  I  suppose  you  know  that 
I  love  you?  It  must  have  been  plain  to  you  for  a  long 
time." 

"  No,"  she  answered,  with  a  little  catch  in  her  breath. 
"  No,  it  has  not.     And  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it  now." 

"  Why  ?"  he  asked,  with  a  dull  gleam  which  could  not  be 
dignified  by  the  name  of  love. 

"  Because  it  can  only  lead  to  trouble." 

Victor  Durnovo  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  win- 
dow, while  Jocelyn,  in  the  full  light  of  the  afternoon,  stood 
before  him.  He  looked  her  slowly  up  and  down  with  a 
glance  of  approval  which  alarmed  and  disquieted  her. 

"  Will  you  marry  me  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No !" 

His  black  mustache  was  pushed  forward  by  some  mo- 
tion of  the  hidden  lips. 


1G6  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  Why  ?" 

"  Do  you  want  the  real  reason  ?"  asked  Jocelyn. 

Victor  Durnovo  paused  for  a  moment. 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

"  Because  I  not  only  do  not  care  for  you,  but  I  despise 
and  distrust  you." 

"  You  are  candid,"  he  said,  with  an  unpleasant  little  laugh. 

"  Yes." 

He  moved  a  little  to  one  side  and  drew  a  chair  towards 
him,  half  leaning,  half  sitting  on  the  back  of  it. 

"  Then,"  he  said,  "  I  will  be  candid  with  you.  I  intend 
you  to  marry  me;  I  have  intended  it  for  a  long  time.  I 
am  not  going  down  on  my  knees  to  ask  you  to  do  It*  that 
is  not  my  way.  But,  if  you  drive  me  to  it,  I  will  make 
your  brother  Maurice  go  down  on  his  knees  and  beg  you  to 
marry  me." 

"  I  don't  think  you  will  do  that,"  answered  the  girl,  stead- 
ily. "  Whatever  your  power  over  Maurice  may  be,  it  is  not 
strong  enough  for  that ;  you  overrate  it." 

"  You  think  so  ?"  he  sneered. 

"  I  am  sure  of  it." 

Durnovo  glanced  hastily  round  the  room  in  order  to  make 
sure  that  they  were  not  overheard. 

"  Suppose,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  hissing  voice,  "  that  I  pos- 
sess knowledge  that  I  have  only  to  mention  to  one  or  two 
people  to  make  this  place  too  hot  for  Maurice  Gordon.  If 
he  escaped  the  fury  of  the  natives,  it  would  be  difficult  to 
know  where  he  could  go  to.  England  would  be  too  hot  for 
him.  They  wouldn't  have  him  there;  I  could  see  to  that. 
He  would  be  a  ruined  man  —  an  outcast  —  execrated  by  all 
the  civilized  world." 

He  was  watching  her  face  all  the  while.  He  saw  the 
color  leave  even  her  lips,  but  they  were  steady  and  firm.  A 
strange  wonder  crept  into  his  heart.  This  woman  never 
flinched.  There  was  some  reserved  strength  within  herself 
upon  which  she  was  now  drawing.     His  dealings  had  all 


MERCURY  167 

been  with  half-castes — with  impure  blood  and  doubtful  de- 
scendants of  a  mixed  ancestry.  He  bad  never  fairly  roused 
a  pure-bred  English  man  or  woman,  and  suddenly  be  began 
to  feel  out  of  his  depth. 

"  What  is  your  knowledge  ?"  asked  Jocelyn,  in  a  coldly 
measured  voice. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  not  ask  that ;  you  will  be  sorry 
afterwards.  I  would  rather  that  you  thought  quietly  over 
what  I  have  told  you.  Perhaps,  on  second  thoughts,  you 
will  see  your  way  to  give  me  some — slight  hope.  I  should 
really  advise  it." 

"  I  did  not  ask  your  advice.    What  is  your  knowledge?" 

"You  will  have  it?"  he  hissed. 

"Yes." 

He  leaned  forward,  craning  his  neck,  pushing  his  yellow 
face  and  hungering  black  eyes  into  hers. 

"Then,  if  you  will  have  it,  your  brother  —  Maurice  Gor- 
don— is  a  slave-trader." 

She  drew  back  as  she  might  have  done  from  some  un- 
clean animal.  She  knew  that  be  was  telling  the  truth. 
There  might  be  extenuating  circumstances.  The  real  truth 
might  have  quite  a  different  sound,  spoken  in  different 
words;  but  there  was  enough  of  the  truth  in  it,  as  Victor 
Durnovo  placed  it  before  her,  to  condemn  Maurice  before 
the  world. 

"  Now  will  you  marry  me?"  he  sneered. 

"  No !" 

Quick  as  thought  she  had  seen  the  only  loop-hole — the 
only  possible  way  of  meeting  this  terrible  accusation. 

He  laughed ;  but  there  was  a  faint  jangle  of  uneasiness 
in  his  laughter. 

"  Indeed  I" 

"  Supposing,"  said  Jocelyn,  "  for  one  moment  that  there 
was  a  grain  of  truth  in  your  fabrication,  who  would  believe 
you  ?  Who  on  this  coast  would  take  your  word  against  the 
word  of  an  English  gentleman?     Even  if  the  whole  story 


168  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

were  true,  which  it  is  not,  could  you  prove  it>  You  are  a 
liar,  as  well  as  a  coward  and  traitor!  Do  you  think  that 
the  very  servants  in  the  stable  would  believe  you  ?  Do  you 
think  that  the  incident  of  the  small-pox  at  Msala  is  forgot- 
ten ?  Do  you  think  that  all  Loango,  even  to  the  boatmen 
on  the  beach,  ignores  the  fact  that  you  are  here  in  Loango 
now  because  you  are  afraid  to  go  through  a  savage  country 
to  the  Simiacine  Plateau,  as  you  are  pledged  to  do  ?  You 
were  afraid  of  the  small-pox  once ;  there  is  something  else 
that  you  are  afraid  of  now.  I  do  not  know  what  it  is,  but 
I  will  find  out.  Coward  !  Go  !  Leave  the  house  at  once, 
before  I  call  in  the  stable-boys  to  turn  you  out,  and  never 
dare  to  speak  to  me  again  !" 

Victor  Durnovo  recoiled  before  her,  conscious  all  the 
while  that  she  had  never  been  so  beautiful  as  at  that  mo- 
ment. But  she  was  something  far  above  him — a  different 
creation  altogether.  He  never  knew  what  drove  him  from 
that  room.  It  was  the  fear  of  something  that  he  did  not 
understand. 

He  heard  her  close  the  window  after  him  as  he  walked 
away  beneath  the  trees. 

She  stood  watching  him  —  proud,  cold,  terrible  in  her 
womanly  anger.  Then  she  turned,  and  suddenly  sank 
down   upon  the  sofa,  sobbing. 

But  fortune  decreed  that  she  should  have  neither  time 
to  weep  nor  think.  She  heard  the  approaching  footsteps 
of  her  old  servant,  and  when  the  door  was  opened  Jocelyn 
Gordon  was  reading  a  book,  with  her  back  turned  towards 
the  window. 

"  That  man  Nala,  miss,  the  paddle-maker,  wants  to  see 
you." 

"  Tell  him  to  go  round  to  the  veranda." 

Jocelyn  went  out  by  the  open  window,  and  presently 
Nala  came  grinning  towards  her.  He  was  evidently  very 
much  pleased  with  himself — held  himself  erect,  and  squinted 
more  violently  than  usual. 


MERCURY  169 

"  I  have  been  to  Msala,"  he  said,  with  considerable  dig- 
nity of  manner. 

"  Yes,  and  what  news  have  you  ?" 

Nala  squatted  down  on  the  chunam  floor,  and  proceeded 
to  unfold  a  leaf.  The  operation  took  some  time.  Within  the 
outer  covering  there  was  a  second  envelope  of  paper,  like- 
wise secured  by  a  string.  Finally  the  man  produced  a 
small  note,  which  showed  signs  of  having  been  read  more 
than  once.  This  he  handed  to  Jocelyn  with  an  absurd  air 
of  importance. 

She  opened  the  paper  and  read : 

"  To  Marie,  at  Msala, — Send  at  once  to  Mr.  Durnovo,  informing 
him  that  the  tribes  have  risen  and  are  rapidly  surrounding  the  Plateau. 
He  must  return  here  at  once  with  as  large  an  armed  force  as  he  can 
raise.  But  the  most  important  consideration  is  time.  He  must  not 
wait  for  men  from  elsewhere,  but  must  pick  up  as  many  as  he  can  in 
Loando  and  on  the  way  up  to  Msala.  I  reckon  that  we  can  hold  out 
for  three  months  without  outside  assistance,  but  after  that  period  we 
shall  be  forced  to  surrender  or  try  and  cut  our  way  through  without 
the  Simiacine.  With  a  larger  force  we  could  beat  back  the  tribes, 
and  establish  our  hold  on  the  Plateau  by  force  of  arms.  This  must 
be  forwarded  to  Mr.  Durnovo  at  once,  wherever  he  is.  The  letter  is 
in  duplicate,  sent  by  two  good  messengers,  who  go  by  different  routes. 

"John  Meredith." 

When  Jocelyn  looked  up,  dry-lipped,  breathless,  Nala 
was  standing  before  her,  beaming  with  self-importance. 

"  Who  gave  you  this  ?" 

"  Marie,  at  Msala." 

"  Who  is  she  ?" 

"Ob,  Mr.  Durnovo's  woman  at  Msala.  She  keeps  his 
house." 

"But  this  letter  is  for  Mr.  Durnovo!"  cried  Jocelyn, 
whose  fear  made  her  unreasonably  angry.  "  Why  has  he 
not  had  it  ?" 

Nala  came  nearer,  with  upraised  forefinger  and  explana- 
tory palm. 


170  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  Marie  tell  me,"  he  said,  "  that  Mr.  Meredith  send  two 
letters.     Marie  give  Mr.  Durnovo  one.    This — other  letter." 

There  was  a  strange  glitter  in  the  girl's  blue  eyes — ■ 
something  steely  and  unpleasant. 

"You  are  sure  of  that?  You  are  quite  sure  that  Mr. 
Durnovo  has  had  a  letter  like  this  ?"  she  asked,  slowly  and 
carefully,  so  that  there  could  be  no  mistake. 

"  That  is  true,"  answered  the  man. 

"  Have  you  any  more  news  from  Msala?" 

Nala  looked  slightly  hurt.  He  evidently  thought  that 
he  had  brought  as  much  news  as  one  man  could  be  ex- 
pected to  carry. 

"  Marie  has  heard,"  he  said,  "  that  there  is  much  fighting 
up  in  the  country." 

"  She  has  heard  no  particulars — nothing  more  than  that?" 

"  No ;  nothing." 

Jocelyn  Gordon  rose  to  this  occasion  also. 

"  Can  you  go,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's  thought,  "  to 
St.  Paul  de  Loanda  for  me  ?" 

The  man  laughed. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  simply. 

"  At  once — now  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  with  a  sigh. 

Already  Jocelyn  was  writing  something  on  a  sheet  of 
paper. 

"  Take  this,"  she  said,  "  to  the  telegraph  -  office  at  St. 
Paul  de  Loanda,  and  send  it  off  at  once.  Here  is  money. 
You  understand  ?  I  will  pay  you  when  you  bring  back  the 
receipt.     If  you  have  been  very  quick,  I  will  pay  you  well." 

That  same  evening  a  second  messenger  started  northward 
after  Maurice  Gordon  with  a  letter  telling  him  to  come  back 
at  once  to  Loango. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

NEMESIS 

"Take  heed  of  still  waters." 

Despite  his  assertion  to  Lady  Cantourne,  Guy  Oscard 
stayed  on  in  the  gloomy  house  in  Russell  Square.  He  had 
naturally  gone  thither  on  his  return  from  Africa,  and  during 
the  months  that  followed  he  did  not  find  time  to  think 
much  of  his  own  affairs.  Millicent  Chyne  occupied  all  his 
thoughts — all  his  waking  moments.  It  is  marvellous  how 
busily  an  active-minded  young  lady  can  keep  a  man  em- 
ployed. 

In  the  ill-lighted  study  rendered  famous  by  the  great 
history  which  had  emanated  in  the  manuscript  therefrom, 
Guy  Oscard  had  interviewed  sundry  great  commercial  ex- 
perts, and  a  check  for  forty-eight  thousand  pounds  had 
been  handed  to  him  across  the  table  polished  bright  by  his 
father's  studious  elbow.  The  Simiacine  was  sold,  and  the 
first  portion  of  it  spent  went  to  buy  a  diamond  aigrette  for 
the  dainty  head  of  Miss  Millicent  Chyne. 

Guy  Oscard  was  in  the  midst  of  the  London  season.  His 
wrealth  and  a  certain  restricted  renown  had  soon  made  him 
popular.  He  had  only  to  choose  his  society,  and  the  selec- 
tion was  not  difficult.  Wherever  Millicent  Chyne  went,  he 
went  also,  and  to  the  lady's  credit  it  must  be  recorded  that 
no  one  beyond  herself  and  Guy  Oscard  had  hitherto  noticed 
this  fact.  Millicent  was  nothing  if  not  discreet.  It  was 
more  or  less  generally  known  that  she  was  engaged  to  Jack 
Meredith,  who,  although  absent  on  some  vaguely  romantic 
quest  of  a  fortune,  was  not  yet  forgotten.    No  word,  how 


172  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

ever,  was  popularly  whispered  connecting  her  name  with 
that  of  any  other  swain  nearer  home.  Miss  Chyne  was  too 
much  of  a  woman  of  the  world  to  allow  that.  But,  in  the 
meantime,  she  rather  liked  diamond  aigrettes  and  the  sup- 
pressed devotion  of  Guy  Oscard. 

It  was  the  evening  of  a  great  ball,  and  Guy  Oscard,  hav- 
ing received  his  orders  and  instructions,  was  dining  alone 
in  Russell  Square,  when  a  telegram  was  handed  to  him.  He 
opened  it  and  spread  the  thin  paper  out  upon  the  table- 
cloth. A  word  from  that  far,  wild  country,  which  seemed 
so  much  fitter  a  background  to  his  simple  bulk  and  strength 
than  the  cramped  ways  of  London  society — a  message  from 
the  very  heart  of  the  dark  continent — to  him : 

"  Meredith  surrounded  and  in  danger.  Durnovo  false.  Come  at  once. 
— Jocelyn  Gordon." 

Guy  Oscard  pushed  back  his  chair  and  rose  at  once,  as  if 
there  were  somebody  waiting  in  the  hall  to  see  him. 

"  I  do  not  want  any  more  dinner,"  he  said.  "  I  am  go- 
ing to  Africa.     Come  and  help  me  to  pack  my  things." 

He  studied  Bradshaw  and  wrote  a  note  to  Millicent 
Chyne.  To  her  he  said  the  same  as  he  had  said  to  the 
butler,  "  I  am  going  to  Africa." 

There  was  something  refreshingly  direct  and  simple 
about  this  man.  He  did  not  enter  into  long  explanations. 
He  simply  went  on  in  the  line  he  had  marked  out.  He  rose 
from  the  table  and  never  looked  back.  His  attitude  seemed 
to  say,  "  I  am  going  to  Africa  ;  kindly  get  out  of  my  way." 

At  three  minutes  to  nine — that  is  to  say,  in  one  hour  and 
a  half — Guy  Oscard  took  his  seat  in  the  Plymouth  Express. 
He  had  ascertained  that  a  Madeira  boat  was  timed  to  sail 
from  Dartmouth  at  eight  o'clock  that  evening.  He  was 
preceded  by  a  telegram  to  Lloyd's  agent  at  Plymouth  : 

"  Have  fastest  craft  available,  steam  up,  ready  to  put  to  sea  to 
catch  the  Banyan,  African  steamer,  four  o'clock  to-morrow  morning. 
Expense  not  to  be  considered," 


NEMESIS  173 

As  the  train  crept  out  into  the  night  the  butler  of  the 
gloomy  house  in  Russell  Square,  who  had  finished  the  port, 
and  was  beginning  to  feel  resigned,  received  a  second  shock. 
This  came  in  the  form  of  a  carriage  and  pair,  followed  by  a 
ring  at  the  bell. 

The  man  opened  the  door,  and  his  fellow-servitor  of  an 
eccentric  class  and  generation  stepped  back  on  the  door-step 
to  let  a  young  lady  pass  into  the  hall. 

"  Mr.  Oscard  ?"  she  said,  curtly. 

"  Left  'ome,  miss,"  replied  the  butler,  stiffly  conscious  of 
walnut-peel  on  his  waistcoat. 

"  How  long  ago  ?" 

"  A  matter  of  half  an  hour,  miss." 

Millicent  Chyne,  whose  face  was  drawn  and  white,  passed 
farther  into  the  ball.  Seeing  the  dining-room  door  ajar,  she 
passed  into  that  stately  apartment,  followed  by  the  butler. 

"  Mr.  Oscard  sent  me  this  note,"  she  said,  showing  a  crum- 
pled paper,  "  saying  that  he  was  leaving  for  Africa  to-night. 
He  gives  no  explanation.     Why  has  he  gone  to  Africa  ?" 

"  He  received  a  telegram  while  he  was  at  dinner,  miss," 
replied  the  butler,  whose  knowledge  of  the  world  indicated 
the  approach  of  at  least  a  sovereign.  "  He  rose  and  threw 
down  his  napkin,  miss.  '  I'm  goin'  to  Africa,'  he  says. 
'Come  and  help  me  pack.'  " 

"  Did  you  see  the  telegram — by  any  chance  ?"  asked  Miss 
Chyne. 

"  Well,  miss,  I  didn't  rightly  read  it." 

Millicent  had  given  way  to  a  sudden  panic  on  the  receipt 
of  Guy's  note.  A  telegram  calling  him  to  Africa  —  calling 
with  a  voice  which  he  obeyed  with  such  alacrity  that  he 
had  not  paused  to  finish  his  dinner  —  could  only  mean  that 
some  disaster  had  happened — some  disaster  to  Jack  Meredith. 
And  quite  suddenly  Millicent  Chyne's  world  was  emptied  of 
all  else  but  Jack  Meredith.  For  a  moment  she  forgot  her- 
self. She  ran  to  the  room  where  Lady  Cantourne  was  af- 
fixing the  family  jewelry  on  her  dress,  and,  showing  the 


1"74  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

letter,  said  breathlessly  that  she  must  see  Guy  Oscard  at 
once.  Lady  Cantourne,  wise  woman  of  the  world  that  she 
was,  said  nothing.  She  merely  finished  her  toilet,  and, 
when  the  carriage  was  ready,  they  drove  round  by  Russell 
Square. 

"  Who  was  it  from  ?"  asked  Millicent. 

"  From  a  person  named  Gordon,  miss." 

"  And  what  did  it  say  ?" 

"  Well,  miss,  as  I  said  before,  I  did  not  rightly  see.  But 
it  seems  that  it  said,  'Come  at  once.'     I  saw  that." 

"And  what  else?    Be  quick,  please." 

"  I  think  there  was  mention  of  somebody  bein'  surround- 
ed, miss.  Some  name  like  Denver,  I  think.  No !  Wait  a 
bit :  it  wasn't  that ;  it  was  somebody  else." 

Finishing  off  the  port  had  also  meant  beginning  it,  and 
the  worthy  butler's  mind  was  not  particularly  clear. 

"  Was  there  any  mention  of  Mr.  Oscard's  partner,  Mr. — 
eh — Meredith  ?"  asked  Millicent,  glancing  at  the  clock. 

"  Yes,  miss,  there  was  that  name,  but  I  don't  rightly  re- 
member in  what  connection." 

"  It  didn't  say  that  he —  "  Millicent  paused  and  drew  in 
her  breath  with  a  jerk — "  was  dead,  or  anything  like  that  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  miss." 

"  Thank  you.     I — am  sorry  we  missed  Mr.  Oscard." 

She  turned  and  went  back  to  Lady  Cantourne,  who  was 
sitting  in  the  carriage.  And  while  she  was  dancing  the 
second  extra  with  the  first-comer  at  four  o'clock  the  next 
morning,  Guy  Oscard  was  racing  out  of  Plymouth  Sound 
into  the  teeth  of  a  fine,  driving  rain.  On  the  bridge  of  the 
trembling  tug-boat,  by  Oscard's  side,  stood  a  keen-eyed 
Channel  pilot,  who  knew  the  tracks  of  the  steamers  up 
and  down  Channel  as  a  game-keeper  knows  the  hare-tracks 
across  a  stubble-field.  Moreover,  the  tug-boat  caught  the 
big  steamer  pounding  down  into  the  gray  of  the  Atlantic 
Ocean,  and  in  due  time  Guy  Oscard  landed  on  the  beach 
at  Loanda. 


NEMESIS  175 

He  had  the  telegram  still  in  his  pocket,  and  he  went,  not 
to  Maurice  Gordon's  office,  but  to  the  bungalow. 

Jocelyn   greeted   him   with    a    little   inarticulate  cry  of 

"I  did  not  think  that  you  could  possibly  be  here  so  soon," 
she  said. 

"  What  news  have  you  ?"  he  asked,  without  pausing  to 
explain.  He  was  one  of  those  men  who  are  silenced  by  an 
unlimited  capacity  for  prompt  action. 

"  That,"  she  replied,  handing  him  the  note  written  by 
Jack  Meredith  to  Marie  at  Msala. 

Guy  Oscard  read  it  carefully. 

"Dated  seven  weeks  last  Monday  —  nearly  two  months 
ago,"  he  muttered,  half  to  himself. 

He  raised  his  head  and  looked  out  of  the  window.  There 
were  lines  of  anxiety  round  his  eyes.  Jocelyn  never  took 
her  glance  from  his  face. 

"  Nearly  two  months  ago,"  he  repeated. 

"  But  you  will  go  ?"  she  said — and  something  in  her  voice 
startled  him. 

"  Of  course  I  will  go,"  he  replied.  He  looked  down  into 
her  face  with  a  vague  question  in  his  quiet  eyes ;  and  who 
knows  what  he  saw  there?  Perhaps  she  was  off  her  guard. 
Perhaps  she  read  this  man  aright  and  did  not  care. 

"With  a  certain  slow  hesitation  he  laid  his  hand  on  her 
arm.  There  was  something  almost  paternal  in  his  manner 
which  was  in  keeping  with  his  stature. 

u  Moreover,"  he  went  on,  "  I  will  get  there  in  time.  I 
have  an  immense  respect  for  Meredith.  If  he  said  that  he 
could  hold  out  for  four  months,  I  should  say  that  he  could 
hold  out  for  six.  There  is  no  one  like  Meredith,  once  he 
makes  up  his  mind  to  take  things  seriously." 

It  was  not  very  well  done,  and  she  probably  saw  through 
it.  She  probably  knew  that  he  was  as  anxious  as  she  was 
herself.  But  his  very  presence  was  full  of  comfort.  It 
somehow  brought  a  change  to  the  moral  atmosphere  —  q 


176  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

sense  of  purposeful,  direct  simplicity  which  was  new  to  the 
West  African  Coast. 

"  I  will  send  over  to  the  factory  for  Maurice,"  said  the 
girl.  "He  has  been  hard  at  work  getting  together  your 
men.  If  your  telegram  had  not  come  he  was  going  up  to 
the  Plateau  himself." 

Oscard  looked  slightly  surprised.  That  did  not  sound 
like  Maurice  Gordon. 

"  I  believe  you  are  almost  capable  of  going  yourself,"  said 
the  big  man,  with  a  slow  smile. 

"  If  I  had  been  a  man  I  should  have  been  half-way  there 
by  this  time." 

"  Where  is  Durnovo  ?"  he  asked,  suddenly. 

"I  believe  he  is  in  Loango.  He  has  not  been  to  this 
house  for  more  than  a  fortnight;  but  Maurice  has  heard 
that  he  is  still  somewhere  in  Loango." 

Jocelyn  paused.  There  was  an  expression  on  Guy  Os 
card's  face  which  she  rather  liked,  while  it  alarmed  her. 

"  It  is  not  likely,"  she  went  on,  "  that  he  will  come  here. 
I — I  rather  lost  my  temper  with  him,  and  said  things  which, 
I  imagine,  hurt  his  feelings." 

Oscar  nodded  gravely. 

"  I'm  rather  afraid  of  doing  that  myself,"  he  said ;  "  only 
it  will  not  be  his  feelings." 

"  I  do  not  think,"  she  replied,  "that  it  would  be  at  all  ex- 
pedient to  say  or  do  anything  at  present.  He  must  go  with 
you  to  the  Plateau.     Afterwards — perhaps." 

Oscard  laughed  quietly. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "that  sounds  like  one  of  Meredith's  prop- 
ositions.    But  he  does  not  mean  it  any  more  than  you  do." 

"  I  do  mean  it,"  replied  Jocelyn,  quietly.  There  is  no 
hatred  so  complete,  so  merciless,  as  the  hatred  of  a  woman 
for  one  who  has  wronged  the  man  she  loves.  At  such  times 
women  do  not  pause  to  give  fair  play.  They  make  no  al- 
lowance. 

Jocelyn  Gordon  found  a  sort  of  fearful  \oy  in  the  anger 


NEMESIS  177 

of  this  self-contained  Englishman.  It  was  an  unfathomed 
mine  of  possible  punishment  over  which  she  could  in 
thought  hold  Victor  Durnovo. 

"  Nothing,"  she  went  on,  "  could  be  too  mean — nothing 
could  be  mean  enough — to  mete  out  to  him  in  payment  of 
his  own  treachery  and  cowardice." 

She  went  to  a  drawer  in  her  writing-table  and  took  from 
it  an  almanac. 

"  The  letter  you  have  in  your  hand,"  she  said,  "was  hand- 
ed to  Mr.  Durnovo  exactly  a  month  ago  by  the  woman  at 
Msala.  From  that  time  to  this  he  has  done  nothing.  He 
has  simply  abandoned  Mr.  Meredith." 

"He  is  in  Loango?"  inquired  Oscard, with  a  premonitory 
sense  of  enjoyment  in  his  voice. 

"  Yes." 

"Does  he  know  that  you  have  sent  for  me?" 

"  No,"  replied  Jocelyn. 

Guy  Oscard  smiled. 

"  I  think  I  will  go  and  look  for  him,"  he  said. 

At  dusk  that  same  evening  there  was  a  singular  incident 
in  the  bar-room  of  the  only  hotel  in  Loango. 

Victor  Durnovo  was  there,  surrounded  by  a  few  friends 
of  antecedents  and  blood  similar  to  his  own.  They  were 
having  a  convivial  time  of  it,  and  the  consumption  of 
whiskey  was  greater  than  might  be  deemed  discreet  in  such 
a  climate  as  that  of  Loango. 

Durnovo  was  in  the  act  of  raising  his  glass  to  his  lips 
when  the  open  doorway  was  darkened,  and  Guy  Oscard  stood 
before  him.  The  half-breed's  jaw  dropped;  the  glass  was  set 
down  again  rather  unsteadily  on  the  zinc-covered  counter. 

"  I  want  you,"  said  Oscard. 

There  was  a  little  pause,  an  ominous  silence,  and  Victor 
Durnovo  slowly  followed  Oscard  out  of  the  room,  leaving 
that  ominous  silence  behind. 

"  I  leave  for  Msala  to-night,"  said  Oscard,  when  they 
were  outside,  "  and  you  are  coming  with  me," 


178  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  I'll  see  you  damned  first !"  replied  Durnovo,  with  a 
courage  born  of  Irish  whiskey. 

Guy  Oscard  said  nothing,  but  he  stretched  out  his  right 
hand  suddenly.  His  fingers  closed  in  the  collar  of  Victor 
Durnovo's  coat,  and  that  parti-colored  scion  of  two  races 
found  himself  feebly  trotting  through  the  one  street  of 
Loango. 

"  Le'  go  1"  he  gasped. 

But  the  hand  at  his  neck  neither  relinquished  nor  con- 
tracted. When  they  reached  the  beach  the  embarkation  of 
the  little  army  was  going  forward  under  Maurice  Gordon's 
supervision.  Victor  looked  at  Gordon.  He  reflected  over 
the  trump  card  held  in  his  hand,  but  he  was  too  skilful  to 
play  it  then. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
TO  THE  RESCUE 

"  I  must  mix  myself  with  action  lest  I  wither  by  despair." 

Jocelyn  had  not  conveyed  to  her  brother  by  word  or 
hint  the  accusation  brought  against  him  by  Victor  Dur- 
novo. But  when  he  returned  home  it  almost  seemed  as  if 
he  were  conscious  of  the  knowledge  that  was  hers.  She 
thought  she  detected  a  subtle  difference  in  his  manner 
towards  herself  —  something  apologetic  and  humble.  This 
was  really  the  result  of  Victor  Durnovo's  threat  made  in 
the  office  of  the  factory  long  before. 

Maurice  Gordon  was  not  the  sort  of  man  to  carry  through 
the  burden  of  a  half-discovered  secret.  It  needs  a  special 
temperament  for  this  —  one  that  is  able  to  inspire  fear  in 
whomsoever  it  may  be  necessary  to  hold  in  check  —  a  tem- 
perament with  sufficient  self-reliance  and  strength  to  play 
an  open  game  steadily  through  to  the  end.      Since  Dur- 


TO    THE    RESCUE  179 

novo's  plain-spoken  threat  had  been  uttered  Gordon  had 
thought  of  little  else,  and  it  was  well  known  that  Jocelyn's 
influence  was  all  that  prevented  him  from  taking  hopelessly 
to  drink.  When  away  from  her  at  the  sub-factories  it  is  to 
be  feared  that  he  gave  way  to  the  temptation.  There  is 
nothing  so  wearing  as  a  constant  suspense,  a  never-resting 
fear ;  and  if  a  man  knows  that  both  may  be  relieved  by  a 
slight  over-indulgence  he  must  be  a  strong  man  indeed  if 
he  can  turn  aside. 

Gordon  betrayed  himself  to  Jocelyn  in  a  thousand  littla 
ways.  He  consulted  her  wishes,  deferred  to  her  opinion, 
and  sought  her  advice  in  a  way  which  never  had  been  his 
hitherto ;  and  while  both  were  conscious  of  this  difference, 
both  were  alike  afraid  of  seeking  to  explain  it. 

Jocelyn  knew  that  her  repulse  of  Victor  Durnovo  was 
only  a  temporary  advantage  ;  the  position  could  not  remain 
long  undecided.  Victor  Durnovo  would  have  to  be  met 
sooner  or  later.  Each  day  increased  the  strength  of  her 
conviction  that  her  brother  was  in  the  power  of  this  man. 
"Whether  he  had  really  allowed  himself  to  be  dragged  into 
the  horrors  of  even  a  slight  connection  with  the  slave- 
trade  she  could  not  tell ;  but  she  knew  the  world  well 
enough  to  recognize  the  fact  that  Durnovo  had  only  to 
make  the  accusation  for  it  to  be  believed  by  the  million 
sensation-mongers  who  are  always  on  the  alert  for  some 
new  horror.  She  knew  that  should  Durnovo  breathe  a 
word  of  this  in  the  right  quarter  —  that  is  to  say,  into  the 
eager  journalistic  ear — there  would  hardly  be  a  civilized 
country  in  the  world  where  Maurice  Gordon  of  Loango 
could  dwell  under  his  own  name.  She  felt  that  they  were 
all  living  on  a  slumbering  volcano.  It  was  one  of  those 
rare  cases  where  human  life  seems  no  longer  sacred  ;  and 
this  refined,  educated,  gentle  English  lady  found  herself 
face  to  face  with  the  fact  that  Victor  Durnovo's  life  would 
be  cheap  at  the  price  of  her  own. 

At  this  moment  Providence,  with  the  wisdom  of  which 


180  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

we  sometimes  catch  a  glimpse,  laid  another  trouble  upon 
her  shoulders.  While  she  was  half  distracted  with  the 
thought  of  her  brother's  danger,  the  news  was  put  into  her 
hand  by  the  grinning  Nala  that  Jack  -Meredith  — ■  the  man 
she  openly  in  her  own  heart  loved  —  was  in  an  even  greater 
strait. 

Here,  at  all  events,  was  a  peril  that  could  be  met,  how* 
ever  heavy  might  be  the  odds.  Her  own  danger,  the  hor- 
ror of  Maurice's  crime,  the  hatred  for  Victor  Durnovo, 
were  all  swallowed  up  in  the  sadden  call  to  help  Jack 
Meredith.  And  Jocelyn  found  at  least  a  saving  excitement 
in  working  night  and  day  for  the  rescue  of  the  man  who 
was  to  be  Millicent  Chyne's  husband. 

Maurice  aided  her  loyally.  His  influence  with  the  na- 
tives was  great ;  his  knowledge  of  the  country  second  only 
to  Durnovo' s.  During  the  fortnight  that  elapsed  between 
the  despatch  of  the  telegram  to  Guy  Oscard  and  the  arrival 
of  that  resourceful  individual  at  Loango,  the  whole  coast 
was  astir  with  preparation  and  excitement.  Thus  it  came 
about  that  Guy  Oscard  found  a  little  army  awaiting  him, 
and  to  Maurice  Gordon  was  the  credit  given.  Victor  Dur- 
novo simply  kept  out  of  the  way.  The  news  that  an  ex- 
pedition was  being  got  together  to  go  to  the  relief  of  Jack 
Meredith  never  reached  him  in  his  retreat.  But  after  a  fort- 
night spent  in  idleness  in  the  neighboring  interior  he  could 
stand  the  suspense  no  longer,  and  came  down  into  the  town, 
to  be  pounced  upon  at  once  by  Guy  Oscard. 

As  he  stood  on  the  beach  near  to  Oscard,  watching  the 
embarkation  of  the  men,  his  feelings  were  decidedly  mixed. 
There  was  an  immense  relief  from  the  anxiety  of  the  last 
few  weeks.  He  had  stood  on  the  verge  of  many  crimes, 
and  had  been  forcibly  dragged  back  therefrom  by  the  strong 
arm  of  Guy  Oscard.  It  had  been  Victor  Durnovo's  inten- 
tion not  only  to  abandon  Jack  Meredith  to  his  certain  fate, 
but  to  appropriate  to  his  own  use  the  consignment  of  Simia- 
cine,  valued  at  sixty  thousand  pounds,  which  he  had  brought 


TO    THE    RESCUE  181 

down  to  the  coast.  The  end  of  it  all  was,  of  course,  the 
possession  of  Jocelyn  Gordon.  The  programme  was  simple; 
but,  racked  as  he  was  by  anxiety,  weakened  by  incipient  dis- 
ease, and  paralyzed  by  chronic  fear,  the  difficulties  were  too 
great  to  be  overcome.  To  be  a  thorough  villain  one  must 
possess,  first  of  all,  good  health;  secondly,  untiring  energy; 
and  thirdly,  a  certain  enthusiasm  for  wrong-doing  for  its  own 
sake.  Criminals  of  the  first  standard  have  always  loved 
crime.  Victor  Durnovo  was  not  like  that.  He  only  made 
use  of  crime,  and  had  no  desire  to  cultivate  it  for  its  own 
sake.  To  be  forcibly  dragged  back,  therefore,  into  the  paths 
of  virtue  was  in  some  ways  a  great  relief.  The  presence  of 
Guy  Oscard,  also,  was  in  itself  a  comfort.  Durnovo  felt  that 
no  responsibility  attached  itself  to  him ;  he  had  entire  faith 
in  Oscard  and  had  only  to  obey. 

Durnovo  was  not  a  person  who  suffered  from  too  delicate 
a  susceptibility.  The  shame  of  his  present  position  did  not 
affect  him  deeply  Indeed,  he  was  one  of  those  men  who 
have  no  sense  of  shame  before  certain  persons;  and  Guy 
Oscard  was  one  of  those.  The  position  was  not  in  itself 
one  to  be  proud  of,  but  the  half-breed  accepted  it  with  won- 
derful equanimity,  and  presently  he  began  to  assist  in  the 
embarkation. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  the  little  coast  steamer  secured 
by  Maurice  Gordon  for  the  service  turned  her  prow  north- 
ward and  steamed  away. 

"The  truth  is,"  Durnovo  took  an  early  opportunity  of 
saying  to  Oscard,  "  that  my  nerve  is  no  longer  up  to  this 
work.  I  should  not  care  to  undertake  this  business  alone, 
despite  my  reputation  on  the  coast.  It  is  a  wonderful  thing 
how  closely  the  nerves  are  allied  to  the  state  of  one's 
health." 

"  Wonderful !"  acquiesced  Guy  Oscard,  with  a  lack  of 
irony  which  only  made  the  irony  keener. 

"  I've  been  too  long  in  this  damned  country,"  exclaimed 
Durnovo,  "  that's  the  fact.     I'm  not  the  man  I  was." 


182  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Guy  Oscard  smoked  for  some  moments  in  silence;  then 
he  took  his  pipe  from  his  lips. 

"  The  only  pity  is,"  he  said,  judicially,  "  that  you  ever 
undertook  to  look  for  the  Simiacine  if  you  were  going  to 
funk  it  when  the  first  difficulty  arose." 

Without  further  comment  he  walked  away,  and  entered 
into  conversation  with  the  captaiu  of  the  steamer. 

"  All  right,"  muttered  Durnovo  between  his  teeth — "  all 
right,  my  sarcastic,  grand  gentlemen.  I'll  be  even  with  you 
yet." 

The  strange  part  of  it  was  that  Guy  Oscard  never  at- 
tempted to  degrade  Durnovo  from  his  post  of  joint  com- 
mander. This  puzzled  the  half-breed  sorely.  It  may 
have  been  that  Oscard  knew  men  better  than  his  indifferent 
manner  would  have  led  the  observer  to  believe.  Durnovo's 
was  just  one  of  those  natures  which  in  good  hands  might 
have  been  turned  to  good  account.  Too  much  solitude,  too 
much  dealing  with  negro  peoples,  and,  chiefly,  too  long  a 
sojourn  in  the  demoralizing  atmosphere  of  West  Africa, 
had  made  a  worse  man  of  Victor  Durnovo  than  nature 
originally  intended.  He  was  not  wholly  bad.  Badness  is, 
after  all,  a  matter  of  comparison,  and,  in  order  to  draw  cor- 
rectly such  a  comparison,  every  allowance  must  be  made  for 
a  difference  in  standard.  Victor  Durnovo's  standard  was 
not  a  high  one  ;  that  was  all.  And  in  continuing  to  treat 
him  as  an  equal  and  trust  him  as  such,  Guy  Oscard  only 
showed  that  he  was  a  cleverer  man  than  the  world  took  him 
to  be. 

In  due  time  Msala  was  reached.  As  the  canoes  suitable 
for  up-river  traffic  were  by  no  means  sufficient  to  transport 
the  whole  of  the  expeditionary  force  in  one  journey,  a  di- 
vision was  made.  Durnovo  took  charge  of  the  advance 
column,  journeying  up  to  the  camp  from  which  the  long 
march  through  the  forest  was  to  begin,  and  sending  back 
the  canoes  for  Oscard  and  the  remainder  of  the  force.  With 
these  canoes  he  sent  back  word  that  the  hostile  tribes  were 


TO    THE    RESCUE  183 

within  a  few  days'  march,  and  that  he  was  fortifying  his 
camp. 

This  news  seemed  to  furnish  Guy  Oscard  with  food  for 
considerable  thought,  and  after  some  space  of  time  he  called 
Marie. 

She  came,  and,  standing  before  him  with  her  patient  dig- 
nity of  mien,  awaited  his  communication.  She  never  took 
her  eyes  off  the  letter  in  his  hand.  Oscard  noticed  the  per- 
sistency of  her  gaze  at  the  time  and  remembered  it  again 
afterwards. 

"  Marie,"  he  said,  "  I  have  had  rather  serious  news  from 
Mr.  Durnovo." 

"  Yes  ?"  rather  breathlessly. 

"  It  will  not  be  safe  for  you  to  stay  at  Msala — you  must 
take  the  children  down  to  Loango." 

"  Does  he  say  that  ?"  she  asked,  in  her  rapid,  indistinct 
English. 

"  Who  ?" 

"  Vic — Mr.  Durnovo." 

"No,"  replied  Oscard,  wondering  at  the  question. 

"  He  does  not  say  anything  about  me  or  the  children  ?" 
persisted  Marie. 

"  No." 

"  And  yet  he  says  there  is  danger  ?" 

There  was  a  strange,  angry  look  in  her  great  dark  eyes 
which  Oscard  did  not  understand. 

"  He  says  that  the  tribes  are  within  two  days'  march  of 
his  camp." 

She  gave  an  unpleasant  little  laugh. 

"  He  does  not  seem  to  have  thought  of  us  at  Msala." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Oscard,  folding  the  letter  and  putting 
it  in  his  pocket,  "  that  he  thinks  it  is  my  duty  to  do  what 
is  best  for  Msala.  That  is  why  I  asked  you  to  speak 
to  me." 

Marie  did  not  seem  to  be  listening.  She  was  looking 
over  his  head  up  the  river,  in  the  direction  from  whence  the 


184  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

message  had  come,  and  there  was  a  singular  hopelessness  in 
her  eyes. 

"  I  cannot  leave  until  he  tells  me  to,"  she  said,  doggedly. 

Guy  Oscard  took  the  pipe  from  his  lips  and  examined 
the  bowl  of  it  attentively  for  a  moment. 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  said,  gently,  "  but  I  insist  on  your 
leaving  with  the  children  to-morrow.  I  will  send  two  men 
down  with  you,  and  will  give  you  a  letter  to  Miss  Gordon, 
who  will  see  to  your  wants  at  Loango." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  sort  of  wonder. 

"  You  insist  ?"  she  said. 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  meet  hers. 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

She  bowed  her  head  in  grave  submission,  and  made  a 
little  movement  as  if  to  go. 

"  It  is  chiefly  on  account  of  the  children,"  he  added. 

Quite  suddenly  she  smiled,  and  seemed  to  check  a  sob  in 
her  throat. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  softly,  "  I  know."  And  she  went  into 
the  house. 

The  next  morning  brought  further  rumors  of  approach- 
ing danger,  and  it  seemed  certain  that  this  news  must  have 
filtered  through  Durnovo's  fortified  camp  farther  up  the 
river.  This  time  the  report  was  more  definite.  There  were 
Arabs  leading  the  tribes,  and  rumor  further  stated  that  an 
organized  descent  on  Msala  was  intended.  And  yet  there 
was  no  word  from  Durnovo — no  sign  to  suggest  that  he 
had  even  thought  of  securing  the  safety  of  his  house-keeper 
and  the  few  aged  negroes  in  charge  of  Msala.  This  news 
only  strengthened  Oscard's  determination  to  send  Marie 
down  to  the  coast,  and  he  personally  superintended  their  de- 
parture before  taking  his  seat  in  the  canoe  for  the  up-river 
voyage.  The  men  of  his  division  had  all  preceded  him, 
and  no  one  except  his  own  boatmen  knew  that  Msala  was 
to  be  abandoned. 

There  was    in  Guy  Oscard  a  dogged  sense  of  justice 


TO    THE    RESCUE  185 

which  sometimes  amounted  to  a  cruel  mercilessness.  When 
he  reached  the  camp  he  deliberately  withheld  from  Dur- 
novo  the  news  that  the  Msala  household  had  left  the  river 
station.  Moreover,  he  allowed  Victor  Durnovo  to  further 
inculpate  himself.  He  led  him  on  to  discuss  the  position 
of  affairs,  and  the  half-breed  displayed  an  intimate  knowl- 
edge of  the  enemy's  doings.  There  was  only  one  inference 
to  be  drawn  —  namely,  that  Victor  Durnovo  had  aban- 
doned his  people  at  Msala  with  the  same  deliberation 
which  had  characterized  his  cowardly  faithlessness  to  Jack 
Meredith. 

Guy  Oscard  was  a  slow-thinking  man,  although  quick  in 
action.  He  pieced  all  these  things  together.  The  pieces  did 
not  seem  to  fit  just  then — the  construction  was  decidedly 
chaotic  in  its  architecture.  But  later  on  the  corner-stone 
of  knowledge  propped  up  the  edifice,  and  everything  slipped 
into  its  place. 

Despite  disquieting  rumors,  the  expedition  was  allowed 
to  depart  from  the  river-camp  unmolested.  For  two  days 
they  marched  through  the  gloomy  forest  with  all  speed. 
On  the  third  day  one  of  the  men  of  Durnovo's  division 
captured  a  native  who  had  been  prowling  on  their  heels  in 
the  line  of  march.  Victor  Durnovo  sent  captor  and  prisoner 
to  the  front  of  the  column,  with  a  message  to  Oscard  that 
he  would  come  presently  and  see  what  information  was  to  be 
abstracted  from  the  captive.  At  the  mid-day  halt  Durnovo 
accordingly  joined  Oscard,  and  the  man  was  brought  before 
them.  He  was  hardly  worthy  of  the  name,  so  disease- 
stricken,  so  miserable,  and  half-starved  was  he. 

At  first  Durnovo  and  he  did  not  seem  to  be  able  to  get 
to  an  understanding  at  all ;  but  presently  they  hit  upon  a 
dialect  in  which  they  possessed  a  small  common  knowledge. 

His  news  was  not  reassuring.  In  dealing  with  numbers 
he  rarely  condescended  to  the  use  of  less  than  four  figures, 
and  his  conception  of  distance  was  very  vague. 

"Ask  him,"  said  Oscard,  "whether  he  knows  that  there 


J.86  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

is  an  Englishman  with  a  large  force  on  the  top  of  a  moun< 
tain  far  to  the  east." 

Durnovo  translated,  and  the  man  answered  with  a  smile. 
In  reply  to  some  further  question  the  negro  launched  into 
a  detailed  narrative,  to  which  Durnovo  listened  eagerly. 

"  He  says,"  said  the  latter  to  Oscard,  "  that  the  Plateau 
is  in^possession  of  the  Masais.  It  was  taken  two  months 
ago.  The  blacks  were  sold  as  slaves  ;  the  two  Englishmen 
were  tortured  to  death  and  their  bodies  burned." 

Oscard  never  moved  a  muscle. 

"  Ask  him  if  he  is  quite  sure  about  it." 

"  Quite,"  replied  Durnovo,  after  questioning.  "  By  God ! 
Oscard ;  what  a  pity !  But  I  always  knew  it.  I  knew  it 
was  quite  hopeless  from  the  first." 

He  passed  his  brown  hand  nervously  over  his  face,  where 
the  perspiration  stood  in  beads. 

"  Yes,"  said  Oscard,  slowly ;  "  but  I  think  we  will  go  on 
all  the  same." 

"  What !"  cried  Durnovo.     "  Go  on  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Guy  Oscard  ;  "  we  will  go  on,  and  if  I  find 
you  trying  to  desert  I'll  shoot  you  down  like  a  rat." 


CHAPTER    XXVI 
IN   PERIL 


"He  made  no  sign;  the  fires  of  hell  were  round  him, 
The  pit  of  hell  below." 

"  About  as  bad  as  they  can  be,  sir.  That's  bow  things 
is."  Joseph  set  down  his  master's  breakfast  on  the  rough 
table  that  stood  in  front  of  his  tent  and  looked  at  Jack 
Meredith. 

Meredith  had  a  way  of  performing  most  of  his  toilet  out- 


IN    PERIL  187 

side  his  tent,  and  while  Joseph  made  his  discouraging  report 
he  was  eno-ao-ed  in  buttoning  his  waistcoat.  He  nodded 
gravely,  but  his  manner  was  not  that  of  a  man  who  fully 
realized  his  position  of  imminent  danger.  Some  men  are 
like  this — they  die  without  getting  at  all  flustered. 

"  There's  not  more  nor  two  or  three  out  of  the  whole  lot 
that  I  can  put  any  trust  in,"  continued  Joseph. 

Jack  Meredith  was  putting  on  his  coat. 

"  I  know  what  a  barrack-room  mutiny  is.  I've  felt  it  in 
the  hatmosphere,  so  to  speak,  before  now,  sir." 

"And  what  does  it  feel  like?"  inquired  Jack  Meredith, 
lightly  arranging  his  watch-chain. 

But  Joseph  did  not  answer.  He  stepped  backward  iato 
the  tent  and  brought  two  rifles.  There  was  no  need  of 
answer;  for  this  came  in  the  sound  of  many  voices,  the 
clang  and  clatter  of  varied  arms. 

"  Here  they  come,  sir,"  said  the  soldier-servant — respect- 
ful, mindful  of  his  place  even  at  this  moment. 

Jack  Meredith  merely  sat  down,  behind  the  little  table 
where  his  breakfast  stood  untouched.  He  leaned  his  elbow 
on  the  table  and  watched  the  approach  of  the  disorderly  band 
of  blacks.     Some  ran,  some  hung  back,  but  all  were  armed. 

In  front  walked  a  small,  truculent -looking  man  with 
broad  shoulders  and  an  aggressive  head. 

He  planted  himself  before  Meredith,  and  turning,  with  a 
wave  of tthe  hand,  to  indicate  his  followers,  said  in  English  : 

"  These  men — these  friends  of  me — say  they  are  tired  of 
you.     You  no  good  leader.     They  make  me  their  leader." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  hideous  grin  of  depre* 
cation. 

"  I  not  want.  They  make  me.  We  go  to  join  our 
friends  in  the  valley." 

He  pointed  down  into  the  valley  where  the  enemy  was 
encamped. 

"  We  have  agreed  to  take  two  hundred  pounds  for  you. 
Price  given  by  our  friends  in  valley — " 


188  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

The  man  stopped  suddenly.  He  was  looking  into  th« 
muzzle  of  a  revolver  with  a  fixed  fascination.  Jack  Mere- 
dith exhibited  no  haste.  He  did  not  seem  yet  to  have  real- 
ized the  gravity  of  the  situation.  He  took  very  careful  aim 
and  pulled  the  trigger.  A  little  puff  of  white  smoke  floated 
over  their  heads.  The  broad  -  shouldered  man  with  the 
aggressive  head  looked  stupidly  surprised.  He  turned  tow- 
ards his  supporters  with  a  pained  look  of  inquiry,  as  if 
there  was  something  he  did  not  quite  understand,  and  then 
he  fell  on  his  face  and  lay  quite  still. 

Jack  Meredith  looked  on  the  blank  faces  with  a  glance  of 
urbane  inquiry. 

"Has  anybody  else  anything  to  say  to  me?"  he  asked. 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Some  one  laughed  rather  fee- 
bly in  the  background. 

"Then  I  think  I  will  go  on  with  my  breakfast." 

Which  he  accordingly  proceeded  to  do. 

One  or  two  of  the  mutineers  dropped  away  and  went 
back  to  their  own  quarters. 

"Take  it  away,"  said  Meredith,  indicating  the  body  of 
the  dead  man  with  his  teaspoon. 

"  And  look  here,"  he  cried  out  after  them,  "  do  not  let 
us  have  any  more  of  this  nonsense!  It  will  only  lead  to 
unpleasantness." 

Some  of  the  men  grinned.  They  were  not  particularly 
respectful  in  their  manner  of  bearing  away  the  mortal  re- 
mains of  their  late  leader.    The  feeling  had  already  turned. 

Joseph  thought  fit  to  clinch  matters  later  on  in  the  day 
by  a  few  remarks  of  his  own. 

"  That's  the  sort  o'  man,"  he  said,  more  in  resignation 
than  in  anger,  "  that  the  guv'nor  is.  He's  quiet  like  and 
smooth-spoken,  but  when  he  does  'it  he  'its  'ard,  and  when 
he  shoots  he  shoots  mortal  straight.  Now,  what  I  says  to 
you  Christy  Minstrels  is  this :  We're  all  in  the  same  box 
and  we  all  want  the  same  thing,  although  I  admit  there's  a 
bit  of  a  difference  in  our  complexions.    Some  o'  you  jokers 


IN    PERIL  189 

have  got  a  fine  richness  of  color  on  your  physiognomies  that 
I  don't  pretend  to  emulate.  But  no  matter.  What  you 
wants  is  to  get  out  of  this  confounded  old  Platter,  quick 
time,  ain't  it  now? — to  get  down  to  Loango  and  go  out  on 
the  bust,  eh  ?" 

The  "  Christy  Minstrels  "  acquiesced. 

"  Then,"  said  Joseph,"  obey  orders  and  be  hanged  to  yer." 

It  had  been  apparent  to  Meredith  for  some  weeks  past 
that  the  man  Nattoo,  whom  he  had  just  shot,  was  bent  on 
making  trouble.  His  prompt  action  had  not,  therefore, 
been  the  result  of  panic,  but  the  deliberate  execution  of  a 
foreordained  sentence.  The  only  question  was  how  to 
make  the  necessary  execution  most  awe-inspiring  and  ex- 
emplary. The  moment  was  well  -  chosen,  and  served  to 
strengthen,  for  the  time  being,  the  waning  authority  of 
these  two  Englishmen  thus  thrown  upon  their  own  re- 
sources in  the  heart  of  Africa. 

The  position  was  not  a  pleasant  one.  For  three  months 
the  Plateau  had  been  surrounded  by  hostile  tribes,  who 
made  desultory  raids  from  time  to  time.  These  the  little 
force  on  the  summit  was  able  to  repulse ;  but  a  combined 
attack  from,  say,  two  sides  at  once  would  certainly  have 
been  successful.  Meredith  had  no  reason  to  suppose  that 
his  appeal  for  help  had  reached  Msala,  infested  as  the  inter- 
vening forests  were  by  cannibal  tribes.  Provisions  were  at 
a  low  ebb.  There  seemed  to  be  no  hope  of  outside  aid, 
and  disaffection  was  rife  in  his  small  force.  Jack  Mere- 
dith, who  was  no  soldier,  found  himself  called  upon  to  de- 
fend a  weak  position,  with  unreliable  men,  for  an  indefinite 
period. 

Joseph  had  a  rough  knowledge  of  soldiering  and  a  very 
rudimentary  notion  of  fortification.  But  he  had  that  which 
served  as  well:  the  unerring  eye  for  covert — of  a  marksman. 
He  was  a  dead-shot  at  any  range,  and  knowing  what  he 
could  hit  he  also  knew  how  to  screen  himself  from  the 
rifle  of  an  enemy. 


190  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Above  all,  perhaps,  was  the  quiet  influence  of  a  man 
who  never  flinched  from  danger  nor  seemed  to  be  in  the 
least  disconcerted  by  its  presence. 

"It  seems,  sir,"  said  Joseph  to  his  master  later  in  the 
day,  "  that  you've  kinder  stumped  them.  They  don't  un- 
derstand you." 

"They  must  be  kept  in  check  by  fear.  There  is  no  other 
way,"  replied  Meredith,  rather  wearily.  Of  late  he  had 
felt  less  and  less  inclined  to  exert  himself. 

"Yes,  sir.     Those  sort  o'  men." 

Meredith  made  no  answer,  and  after  a  little  pause  Joseph 
repeated  the  words  significantly,  if  ungrammatically. 

"  Those  sort  o'  men." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Slaves,"  replied  Joseph,  sharply,  touching  his  hat  with- 
out knowing  why. 

"  Slaves !     What  the  devil  are  you  talking  about?" 

The  man  came  a  little  nearer. 

"  Those  forty  men  —  leastwise  thirty-four  men  —  that 
we  brought  from  Msala — Mr.  Durnovo's  men  that  cultivate 
this  'ere  Simiacine,  as  they  call  it — they're  different  from 
the  rest,  sir." 

"  Yes,  of  course  they  are.  We  do  not  hire  them  direct 
— we  hire  them  from  Mr.  Durnovo  and  pay  their  wages  to 
him.  They  are  of  a  different  tribe  from. the  others — not 
fighting  men,  but  agriculturists." 

"  Ah —  "  Joseph  paused.  "  Strange  thing,  sir,  but  I've 
not  seen  'em  handling  any  of  their  pay  yet." 

"  Well,  that  is  their  affair." 

"  Yessir !" 

Having  unburdened  himself  of  his  suspicion,  the  servant 
retired,  shaking  his  head  ominously.  At  any  other  time 
the  words  just  recorded  would  have  aroused  Jack  Meredith's 
attention,  but  the  singular  slothfulness  that  seemed  to  be 
creeping  over  his  intellect  was  already  acting  as  a  clog  on 
his  mental  energy. 


IN    PERIL  191 

The  next  morning  he  was  unable  to  leave  his  bed,  and 
lay  all  day  in  a  state  of  serai-somnolence.  Joseph  explained 
to  the  men  that  the  leader  was  so  disgusted  with  their  un- 
grateful conduct  that  he  would  not  leave  the  tent.  In  the 
evening  there  was  a  slight  attack  made  from  the  southern 
side.  This  Joseph  was  able  to  repulse,  chiefly  by  his  own 
long-range  firing,  assisted  by  a  few  picked  rifles.  But  the 
situation  was  extremely  critical.  The  roll  of  the  big  war- 
drum  could  be  heard  almost  incessantly,  rising  with  weird 
melancholy  from  the  forest  land  beneath  them. 

Despite  difficulties,  the  new  crop  of  Simiacine — the  sec- 
ond within  twelve  months  —  had  been  picked,  dried,  and 
stored  in  cases.  Without,  on  the  Plateau,  stood  the  bare 
trees,  affording  no  covert  for  savage  warfare  —  no  screen 
against  the  deadly  bullet.  The  camp  was  placed  near  one 
edge  of  the  table-land,  and  on  this  exposed  side  the  stock- 
ade was  wisely  constructed  of  double  strength,  The  attacks 
had  hitherto  been  made  only  from  this  side,  but  Joseph 
knew  that  anything  in  the  nature  of  a  combined  assault 
would  carry  his  defence  before  it.  In  his  rough-and-ready 
way  he  doctored  his  master,  making  for  him  such  soups 
and  strength -giving  food  as  he  could.  Once,  very  late  in 
the  night,  when  it  almost  seemed  that  the  shadow  of  death 
lay  over  the  little  tent,  he  pounded  up  some  of  the  magic 
Simiacine  leaves  and  mixed  them  in  the  brandy  which  he 
administered  from  time  to  time. 

Before  sunrise  the  next  morning  the  alarm  was  given 
again,  and  the  little  garrison  was  called  to  arms. 

When  Joseph  left  his  masters  tent  he  was  convinced  that 
neither  of  them  had  long  to  live ;  but  he  was  of  that  hard 
material  which  is  found  in  its  very  best  form  in  the  ranks 
and  on  the  forecastle  —  men  who  die  swearing.  It  may  be 
very  reprehensible — no  doubt  it  is —  but  it  is  very  difficult 
for  a  plain-going  man  to  withhold  his  admiration  for  such 
as  these.  It  shows,  at  all  events,  that  Thomas  Atkins  and 
Jack  are  alike  unafraid  of  meeting  their  Maker.     It  is  their 


192  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

duty  to  fight  either  a  living  enemy  or  a  cruel  sea,  and  if  a 
little  profanity  helps  them  to  do  their  duty,  who  are  we 
that  we  may  condemn  them  ? 

So  Joseph  went  out  with  a  rifle  in  each  hand  and  a  fine 
selection  of  epithets  on  his  tongue. 

"  Now,  you  devils,"  he  said,  "  we're  just  going  to  fight 
like  hell." 

And  what  else  he  said  it  booteth  little. 

He  took  his  station  on  the  roof  of  a  hut  in  the  centre  of 
the  little  stockade,  and  from  there  he  directed  the  fire  of  his 
men.  Crouching  beneath  him  he  had  a  disabled  native 
who  loaded  each  rifle  in  turn  ;  and  just  by  way  of  encourag- 
ing the  others  he  picked  off  the  prominent  men  outside  the 
stockade  with  a  deadly  steadiness.  By  way  of  relieving 
the  tension  he  indulged  in  an  occasional  pleasantry  at  the 
expense  of  the  enemy. 

"Now,"  he  would  say,  "there's  a  man  lookin'  over  that 
bush  with  a  green  feather  on  his  nut.  It's  a  mistake  to  wear 
green  feathers ;  it  makes  a  body  so  conspicuous." 

And  the  wearer  of  the  obnoxious  feather  would  throw  up 
his  arms  and  topple  backward  down  the  hill. 

If  Joseph  detected  anything  like  cowardice  or  careless- 
ness, he  pointed  his  rifle  with  a  threatening  frown  towards 
the  culprit,  with  instant  effect.  Presently,  however,  things 
began  to  get  more  serious.  This  was  not  the  sudden  as- 
sault of  a  single  chief,  but  an  organized  attack.  Before 
long  Joseph  ceased  to  smile.  By  sunrise  he  was  off  the 
roof,  running  from  one  weak  point  to  another,  encouraging, 
threatening,  fighting,  and  swearing  very  hard.  More  than 
once  the  enemy  reached  the  stockade,  and  —  ominous  sign 
— one  or  two  of  their  dead  lay  inside  the  defence. 

"  Fight,  yer  devils — fight !"  he  cried  in  a  hoarse  whisper, 
for  his  voice  had  given  away.     "  Hell — give  'em  hell !" 

He  was  everywhere  at  once,  urging  on  his  men,  kicking 
them,  pushing  them,  forcing  them  up  to  the  stockade.  But 
he  saw  the  end.    Half  dazed,  the  blacks  fought  on  in  sileuce. 


IN    PERIL  193 

The  grim  African  sun  leaped  np  above  the  distant  line  of 
forest  and  shone  upon  one  of  the  finest  sights  to  be  seen  on 
earth — a  soldier  wounded,  driven  desperate,  and  not  afraid. 

In  the  midst  of  it  a  hand  was  laid  on  Joseph's  shoulder. 

"There,"  cried  a  voice,  "  that  corner.     See  to  it." 

Without  looking  round,  Joseph  obeyed,  and  the  breached 
corner  was  saved.  He  only  knew  that  his  master,  who  was 
almost  dead,  had  come  to  life  again.  There  was  no  time 
for  anything  else. 

For  half  an  hour  it  was  a  question  of  any  moment.  Mas- 
ter and  man  were  for  the  time  being  nothing  better  than 
madmen,  and  the  fighting  frenzy  is  wildly  infectious. 

At  last  there  was  a  pause.  The  enemy  fell  back,  and  in 
the  momentary  silence  the  sound  of  distant  firing  reached 
the  ears  of  the  little  band  of  defenders. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Meredith,  sharply.  He  looked 
liked  one  risen  from  the  dead. 

"  Fighting  among  themselves,"  replied  Joseph,  who  was 
wiping  blood  and  grime  from  his  eyes. 

"Then  one  of  them  is  fighting  with  an  Express  rifle." 

Joseph  listened. 

"By  God!"  he  shouted  —  "by  God,  Mer  —  sir,  we're 
saved  1" 

The  enemy  had  apparently  heard  the  firing,  too.  Per- 
haps they  also  recognized  the  peculiar  sharp  "  smack "  of 
the  Express  rifle  amid  the  others.  There  was  a  fresh  at- 
tack— an  ugly  rush  of  reckless  men.  But  the  news  soon 
spread  that  there  was  firing  in  the  valley,  and  the  sound  of 
a  white  man's  rifle.  The  little  garrison  plucked  up  heart, 
and  the  rifles,  almost  too  hot  to  hold,  dealt  death  around. 

They  held  back  the  savages  until  the  sound  of  the  firing 
behind  them  was  quite  audible  even  amid  the  heavy  rattle 
of  the  musketry. 

Then  suddenly  the  firing  ceased — the  enemy  had  divided 
and  fled.  For  a  few  moments  there  was  a  strange,  tense 
silence-     Then  a  voice — an  English  voice — cried, 


194  WITH    EDGED   TOOLS 

"  Come  on !" 

The  next  moment  Guy  Oscard  stood  on  the  edge  of  the 
Plateau.  He  held  up  both  arms  as  a  signal  to  those  within 
the  stockade  to  cease  firing,  and  then  he  came  forward,  fol- 
lowed by  a  number  of  blacks  and  Durnovo. 

The  gate  was  rapidly  disencumbered  of  its  rough  sup- 
ports  and  thrown  open. 

Jack  Meredith  stood  in  the  aperture,  holding  out  his 
hand. 

"  It's  all  right ;  it's— all  right,"  he  said. 

Oscard  did  not  seem  to  take  so  cheerful  a  view  of  mat- 
ters.    He  scrutinized  Meredith's  face  with  visible  anxiety. 

Then  suddenly  Jack  lurched  up  against  his  rescuer,  grab- 
bing at  him  vaguely. 

In  a  minute  Oscard  was  supporting  him  back  towards 
his  tent. 

"  It's  all  right,  you  know,"  explained  Jack  Meredith,  very 
gravely ;  "  I  am  a  bit  weak — that  is  all.  I  am  hungry — 
haven't  had  anything  to  eat  for  some  time,  you  know." 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Oscard,  shortly ;  "  I  know  all  about  it." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

OFF    DUTY 

"Chacun  de  vous  peut-etre  en  son  coeur  solitaire 
Sous  des  ris  passagers  etouffe  un  long  regret." 

*'  Good-bye  to  that  damned  old  Platter — may  it  be  for- 
ever !"  With  this  valedictory  remark  Joseph  shook  his  fist 
once  more  at  the  unmoved  mountain  and  resumed  his 
march. 

"  William,"  he  continued,  gravely,  to  a  native  porter  who 
walked  at  his  side  and  knew  no  word  of  English,  "  there  is 
some  money  that  is  not  worth  the  making." 


OFF    DUTT  195 

Tho  man  grinned  from  car  to  ear  and  nodded  with  a 
vast  appreciation  of  what  experience  taught  him  to  take  as 
a  joke. 

"  Remember  that,  my  black  diamond,  and  just  mind  the 
corner  of  your  mouth  don't  get  hitched  over  yer  ear,"  said 
Joseph,  patting  him  with  friendly  cheerfulness. 

Then  he  made  his  way  forward  to  walk  by  the  side '  of 
his  master's  litter  and  encourage  the  carriers  with  that  mixt- 
ure of  light  badinage  and  heavy  swearing  which  composed 
his  method  of  dealing  with  the  natives. 

Three  days  after  the  arrival  of  the  rescuing  force  at  the 
Plateau,  Guy  Oscard  had  organized  a  retreating  party,  com- 
manded by  Joseph,  to  convey  Jack  Meredith  down  to  the 
coast.  He  knew  enough  of  medicine  to  recognize  the  fact 
that  this  was  no  passing  indisposition,  but  a  thorough  break- 
down in  health.  The  work  and  anxiety  of  the  last  year, 
added  to  the  strange  disquieting  breath  of  the  Simiacine 
grove,  had  brought  about  a  serious  collapse  in  the  system 
which  only  months  of  rest  and  freedom  from  care  could  re- 
pair. 

Before  the  retreating  column  was  ready  to  march  it  was 
discovered  that  the  hostile  tribes  had  finally  evacuated  the 
country;  which  deliverance  was  brought  about  not  by  Os- 
card's  blood  -  stained  track  through  the  forest,  not  by  the 
desperate  defence  of  the  Plateau,  but  by  the  whisper  that 
Victor  Durnovo  was  with  them.  Truly  a  man's  reputation 
is  a  strange  thing ! 

And  this  man — the  mighty  warrior  whose  name  was  as 
good  as  an  army  in  Central  Africa  —  went  down  on  his 
knees  one  night  to  Guy  Oscard,  imploring  him  to  abandon 
the  Simiacine  Plateau,  or  at  all  events  to  allow  him  to  go 
down  to  Loango  with  Meredith  and  Joseph. 

"  No,"  said  Oscard ;  "  Meredith  held  this  place  for  us 
when  he  could  have  left  it  safely.  He  has  held  it  for  a 
year.  It  is  our  turn  now.  We  will  hold  it  for  him.  I  am 
going  to  stay,  and  you  have  to  stay  with  me." 


196  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

For  Jack  Meredith,  life  was  at  this  time  nothing  but  a 
constant,  never-ceasing  fatigue.  When  Oscard  helped  him 
into  the  rough  litter  they  had  constructed  for  his  comfort,  he 
laid  his  head  on  the  pillow,  overcome  with  a  dead  sleep. 

"Good-bye,  old  chap,"  said  Oscard,  patting  him  on  the 
shoulder. 

"Gr'bye ;"  and  Jack  Meredith  turned  over  on  his  side  as  if 
he  were  in  bed,  drew  up  the  blanket,  and  closed  his  eyes. 
He  did  not  seem  to  know  where  he  was,  and,  what  was 
worse,  he  did  not  seem  to  care.  Oscard  gave  the  signal  to 
the  bearers,  and  the  march  began.  There  is  something  in  the 
spring  of  human  muscles  unlike  any  other  motive  power; 
the  power  of  thought  may  be  felt  even  on  the  pole  of  a 
litter,  and  one  thing  that  modern  invention  can  never  equal 
is  the  comfort  of  being  carried  on  the  human  shoulder.  The 
slow  swinging  movement  came  to  be  a  part  of  Jack  Mere- 
dith's life — indeed,  life  itself  seemed  to  be  nothing  but  a 
huge  journey  thus  peacefully  accomplished.  Through  the 
flapping  curtains  an  endless  procession  of  trees  passed  before 
his  half-closed  eyes.  The  unintelligible  gabble  of  the  light- 
hearted  bearers  of  his  litter  was  all  that  reached  his  ears. 
And  ever  at  his  side  was  Joseph — cheerful,  indefatigable, 
resourceful.  There  was  in  his  mind  one  of  the  greatest 
happinesses  of  life  —  the  sense  of  something  satisfactorily 
accomplished — the  peacefulness  that  comes  when  the  neces- 
sity for  effort  is  past  and  left  behind — that  lying  down  to 
rest  which  must  surely  be  something  like  Death  in  its 
kindest  form. 

The  awe  inspired  by  Victor  Durnovo's  name  went  before 
the  little  caravan  like  a  moral  convoy  and  cleared  their  path. 
Thus,  guarded  by  the  name  of  a  man  whom  he  hated,  Jack 
Meredith  was  enabled  to  pass  through  a  savage  country 
literally  cast  upon  a  bed  of  sickness. 

In  due  course  the  river  was  reached,  and  the  gentle  swing 
of  the  litter  was  changed  for  the  smoother  motion  of  the 
canoe.     And  it  was  at  this  period  of  the  journey — in  the 


OFF    DUTY"  197 

forced  restfulness  of  body  entailed  —  that  Joseph's  mind 
soared  to  higher  things,  and  he  determined  to  write  a  letter 
to  Sir  John. 

He  was,  he  admitted  even  to  himself,  no  great  penman, 
and  his  epistolary  style  tended,  perhaps,  more  to  the  forcible 
than  to  the  finished. 

"  Somethin',"  he  reflected,  "  that'll  just  curl  his  back  hair 
for  'im  ;  that's  what  I'll  write  'im." 

Msala  had  been  devastated,  and  it  was  within  the  roofless 
walls  of  Durnovo's  house  that  Joseph  finally  wrote  out 
laboriously  the  projected  capillary  invigorator." 

"  Honored  Sir  [he  wrote], — Trusting  you  will  excuse  the  liberty, 
I  take  up  ray  pen  to  advise  you  respectfully  " — while  writing  this  word 
Joseph  closed  his  left  eye — "  that  my  master  is  taken  seriously  worse. 
Having  been  on  the  sick-list  now  for  a  matter  of  five  weeks,  he  just 
lies  on  his  bed  as  weak  as  a  new-born  babe,  as  the  sayin'  is,  and 
doesn't  take  no  notice  of  nothing.  I  have  succeeded  in  bringing  him 
down  to  the  coast,  which  we  hope  to  reach  to-morrow,  and  when  we 
get  to  Loango — a  poor  sort  of  place — I  shall  at  once  obtain  the  best 
advice  obtainable — that  is  to  be  had.  However,  I  may  have  to  send 
for  it ;  but  money  being  no  object  to  either  master  or  me,  respectfully 
I  beg  to  say  that  every  care  will  be  took.  Master  having  kind  friends 
at  Loango,  I  have  no  anxiety  as  to  the  future,  but,  honored  sir,  it  has 
been  a  near  touch  in  the  past — just  touch  and  go,  so  to  speak.  Not 
being  in  a  position  to  form  a  estimate  of  what  is  the  matter  with  mas- 
ter, I  can  only  respectfully  mention  that  I  take  it  to  be  a  general 
kerlapse  of  the  system,  brought  on,  no  doubt,  by  too  long  a  living  in 
the  unhealthy  platters  of  Central  Africa.  When  I  gets  him  to  Loango 
I  shall  go  straight  to  the  house  of  Mr.  and  Miss  Gordon,  where  we 
stayed  before,  and  with  no  fear  but  what  we  will  be  received  with 
every  kindness  and  the  greatest  hospitality.  Thank  God,  honored 
sir,  I've  kept  my  health  and  strength  wonderful,  and  am  therefore 
more  able  to  look  after  master.  When  we  reach  Loango  I  shall  ask 
Mi9s  Gordon  kindly  to  write  to  you,  sir,  seeing  as  I  have  no  great 
facility  with  my  pen.  I  am,  honored  sir,  your  respectful  servant  to 
command,  "Joseph  Atkinson, 

"Late  Corporal  217th  Regt." 

There  were  one  or  two  round  splashes  on  the  paper  sug- 
gestive, perhaps,  of  tears,  but  not  indicative  of  those  useless 


198  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

tributes.  The  truth  was  that  it  was  a  hoi,  evening,  and 
Joseph  had,  as  he  confessed,  but  little  facility  with  the  pen. 

"  There,"  said  the  scribe,  with  a  smile  of  intense  satisfac- 
tion. "  That  will  give  the  old  un  beans.  Not  that  I  don't 
respect  him — oh  no." 

He  paused,  and  gazed  thoughtfully  at  the  evening-star. 

"  Strange  thing — life,"  he  muttered,  "  uncommon  strange. 
Perhaps  the  old  un  is  right ;  there's  no  knowin'.  The 
ways  o'  Providence  are  mysterious — onnecessarily  mysteri- 
ous, to  my  thinkin'." 

And  he  shook  his  head  at  the  evening-star,  as  if  he  were 
not  quite  pleased  with  it. 

With  a  feeling  of  considerable  satisfaction  Joseph  ap- 
proached the  bungalow  at  Loango  three  days  later.  The 
short  sea  voyage  had  somewhat  revived  Meredith,  who  had 
been  desirous  of  walking  up  from  the  beach,  but  after  a 
short  attempt  had  been  compelled  to  enter  the  spring-cart 
which  Joseph  had  secured. 

Joseph  walked  by  the  side  of  this  cart  with  an  erect  car- 
riage, and  a  suppressed  importance  suggestive  of  ambulance 
duty  in  the  old  days. 

As  the  somewhat  melancholy  cortege  approached  the 
house,  Meredith  drew  back  the  dusky  brown-holland  cur- 
tain and  looked  anxiously  out.  Nor  were  Joseph's  eyes 
devoid  of  expectation.  He  thought  that  Jocelyn  would 
presently  emerge  from  the  flower-hung  trellis  of  the  veranda ; 
and  he  had  rehearsed  over  and  over  again  a  neat,  respectful 
speech,  explanatory  of  his  action  in  bringing  a  sick  man  to 
the  house. 

But  the  hanging  fronds  of  flower  and  leaf  remained  mo- 
tionless, and  the  cart  drove,  unchallenged,  round  to  the 
principal  door. 

A  black  servant — a  stranger — held  the  handle,  and  stood 
back  invitingly.  Supported  by  Joseph's  arm,  Jack  Mere- 
dith entered.  The  servant  threw  open  the  drawing-room 
door ;  they  passed  in.     The  room  was  empty.     On  the  ta- 


OFF    DUTY  199 

ble  lay  two  letters,  one  addressed  to  Guy  Oscard,  the  other 
to  Jack  Meredith. 

Meredith  felt  suddenly  how  weak  he  was,  and  sat  wearily 
down  on  the  sofa. 

"  Give  me  that  letter,"  he  said. 

Joseph  looked  at  him  keenly.  There  was  something 
forlorn  and  cold  about  the  room — about  the  whole  house 
— with  the  silent,  smiling  black  servants  and  the  shaded 
windows. 

Joseph  handed  the  letter  as  desired,  and  then,  with  quick, 
practised  hands,  he  poured  a  small  quantity  of  brandy  into 
the  cup  of  his  flask.     "  Drink  this  first,  sir,"  he  said. 

Jack  Meredith  fumbled  rather  feebly  at  the  letter.  It 
was  distinctly  an  effort  to  him  to  tear  the  paper. 

"  My  dear  Meredith  "  [he  read], — Just  a  line  to  tell  you  that  the 
bungalow  and  its  contents  are  at  your  service.  Jocelyn  and  I  are  off 
home  for  two  months'  change  of  air.  I  have  been  a  bit  seedy.  I 
leave  this  at  the  bungalow,  and  we  shall  feel  hurt  if  you  do  not  make 
the  house  your  home  whenever  you  happen  to  come  down  to  Loango. 
I  have  left  a  similar  note  for  Oscard,  in  whose  expedition  to  your  re- 
lief I  have  all  faith.  Yours  ever, 

"  Maurice  Gordon." 

"  Here,"  said  Meredith  to  his  servant, "  you  may  as  well 
read  it  for  yourself." 

He  handed  the  letter  to  Joseph  and  leaned  back  with  a 
strange  rapidity  of  movement  on  the  sofa.  As  he  lay  there 
with  his  eyes  closed  he  looked  remarkably  like  a  dead  man. 

While  Joseph  was  reading  the  letter  the  sound  of  bare 
feet  on  the  cocoa-leaf  matting  made  him  turn  round. 

A  small,  rotund  white  figure  of  a  child,  clad  in  a  cotton 
garment,  stood  in  the  doorway,  finger  in  mouth,  gazing 
gravely  at  the  two  occupants  of  the  room. 

"  Nestorius !"  exclaimed  Joseph,  "  by  all  that's  holy ! 
Well,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  my  son.    Where's  mammy,  eh  I" 

Nestorius  turned  gravely  round  and  pointed  a  small  dusky 
finger  in  the  direction  of  the  servants'  quarters.     Then  he 


200  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

replaced  the  finger  between  his  lips  and  came  slowly  forward 
to  examine  Meredith,  wbo  had  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Well,  stout  Nestorius !  This  is  a  bad  case,  is  it  not  ?" 
said  the  sick  man. 

"  Bad  case,"  repeated  Nestorius,  mechanically. 

At  that  moment  Marie  came  into  the  room,  dignified, 
gentle,  self-possessed. 

"  Ah,  missis,"  said  Joseph,  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  You're 
wanted  badly,  and  that's  the  truth.  Mr.  Meredith's  not  at 
all  well." 

Marie  bowed  gravely.  She  went  to  Meredith's  side  and 
looked  at  him  with  a  smile  that  was  at  once  critical  and  en- 
■  couraging.  Nestorius,  holding  on  to  her  skirt,  looked  up  to 
her  face,  and,  seeing  the  smile,  smiled  too.  He  went  further. 
He  turned  round  and  smiled  at  Joseph  as  if  to  make  things 
pleasant  all  round. 

Marie  stooped  over  the  sofa,  and  her  clever  dusky  fingers 
moved  the  cushions. 

"  You  will  be  better  in  bed,"  she  said ;  "  I  will  get  Mr. 
Gordon's  room  made  ready  for  you — yes?" 

There  are  occasions  when  the  mere  presence  of  a  woman 
supplies  a  distinct  want.  She  need  not  be  clever,  or  very 
capable;  she  need  have  no  great  learning  or  experience. 
She  merely  has  to  be  a  woman  —  the  more  womanly  the 
better.  There  are  times  when  a  man  may  actually  be  afraid 
for  the  want  of  a  woman,  but  that  is  usually  for  the  want  of 
one  particular  woman.  There  may  be  a  distinct  sense  of 
fear — a  fear  of  life  and  its  possibilities — which  is  nothing 
else  than  a  want — the  want  of  a  certain  voice,  the  desire  to 
be  touched  by  a  certain  hand,  the  carping  necessity  (which 
takes  the  physical  form  of  a  pressure  deep  town  in  the 
throat)  for  the  sympathy  of  that  one  person  whose  pres- 
ence is  different  from  the  presence  of  other  people.  And 
failing  that  particular  woman,  another  can  in  a  certain 
degree,  by  her  mere  womanliness,  stay  the  pressure  of  the 
want. 


OFF    DUTY  201 

This  was  what  Marie  did  for  Jack  Meredith  by  coming 
into  the  room  and  bending  over  him  and  touching  his 
cushions  with  a  sort  of  deftness  and  savoir  faire.  He  did 
not  define  his  feelings — he  was  too  weak  for  that;  but  he 
had  been  conscious,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  of  a  dis- 
tinct sense  of  fear  when  he  read  Maurice  Gordon's  letter. 
Of  course  he  had  thought  of  the  possibility  of  death  many 
times  during  the  last  five  weeks ;  but  he  had  no  intention  of 
dying.  He  set  the  fact  plainly  before  himself  that  with 
care  he  might  recover,  but  that  at  any  moment  some  symp- 
tom could  declare  itself  which  would  mean  death. 

But  he  and  Joseph  had,  without  making  mention  of  it 
to  each  other,  counted  entirely  on  finding  the  Gordons  at 
home.  It  was  more  than  a  disappointment  —  very  much 
more  for  Jack  Meredith.  But  in  real  life  we  do  not  analyze 
our  feelings  as  do  men  in  books — more  especially  books  of 
the  mawko-religious  tenor  written  by  ladies.  Jack  Meredith 
only  knew  that  he  felt  suddenly  afraid  of  dying  when  he 
read  Maurice  Gordon's  letter,  and  that  when  the  half-caste 
woman  came  into  the  room  and  gently  asserted  her  claim, 
as  it  were,  to  supreme  authority  in  this  situation,  the  fear 
seemed  to  be  allayed. 

Joseph,  with  something  bright  glistening  in  his  keen, 
quick  eyes,  stood  watching  her  face  as  if  for  a  verdict. 

"  You  are  tired,"  she  said,  "  after  your  long  journey." 

Then  she  turned  to  Joseph  with  that  soft,  natural  way 
which  seems  to  run  through  the  negro  blood,  however  much 
it  may  be  diluted. 

"  Help  Mr.  Meredith,"  she  said,  "to  Mr.  Gordon's  room. 
I  will  go  at  once  and  see  that  the  bed  is  got  ready." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

A     SLOW    RECOVERY 

"We  dare  not  let  our  tears  flow,  lest,  in  truth, 
They  fall  upon  our  work  which  must  be  done." 

"They-  was  just  in  time,"  said  Joseph  pleasantly  to  Ma- 
rie that  same  evening,  when  Jack  Meredith  had  been  made 
comfortable  for  the  night  and  there  was  time  to  spare  for 
supper. 

"  Ah !"  replied  the  woman,  who  was  busy  with  the  sup- 
per-table. 

Joseph  glanced  at  her  keenly.  The  exclamation  not  only 
displayed  a  due  interest,  but  contained  many  questions. 
He  stretched  out  his  legs  and  wagged  his  head  sapiently. 

"And  no  mistake!"  he  said.  "They  timed  it  almost  to 
the  minute.  We  had  sort  of  beaten  them  back  for  the 
time  bein\  Mr.  Meredith  had  woke  up  sudden,  as  I  told 
you,  and  came  into  the  thick  of  the  melee,  as  we  say  in  the 
service.  Then  we  heard  the  firin'  in  the  distance  and  the 
'splat'  of  Mr.  Oscard's  Express  rifle.  I  just  turns,  like 
this  'ere,  my  head  over  me  shoulder,  quite  confidential,  and 
I  says,  '  Good  Lord,  I  thank  yer.'  I'm  no  hand  at  tracts 
and  Bible  -  readin's,  but  I'm  not  such  a  blamed  fool,  Mis- 
tress Marie,  as  to  think  that  this  'ere  rum-go  of  a  world 
made  itself.  No,  not  quite.  So  I  just  put  in  a  word,  quiet- 
like, to  the  Creator." 

Marie  was  setting  before  him  such  luxuries  as  she  could 
command.     She  nodded  encouragingly. 

"  Go  on,"  she  said.     "  Tell  me !" 

"  Cheddar  cheese,"  he  said,  parenthetically,  with  an  ap- 
preciative sniff.     "Haven't  seen  a  bit  o'  that  for  a  long 


A    SLOW    RECOVERY  203 

time.  Well,  then,  up  comes  Mr.  Oscard  as  cool  as  a  cow- 
cumber,  and  Mr.  Meredith  he  gives  a  sort  of  a  little  laugh 
and  says,  '  Open  that  gate.'  Quite  quiet,  yer  know.  No 
high  falutin'  and  potry  and  that.  A  few  minutes  before 
he  had  been  fightin'  and  cussin'  and  shoutin',  just  like  any 
Johnny  in  the  ranks.  Then  he  calms  down  and  wipes  the 
blood  off' n  his  hand  on  the  side  of  his  pants,  and  says, 
'  Open  that  gate.'  That's  a  nice  piece  of  butter  you've  got 
there,  mistress.  Lord  !  it's  strange  I  never  missed  all  them 
things." 

"Bring  your  chair  to  the  table,"  said  Marie,  "  and  begin. 
You  are  hungry — 'yes?" 

"  Hungry  ain't  quite  the  word." 

"You  will  have  some  mutton — yes?  And  Mr.  Durnovo, 
where  was  he  ?" 

Joseph  bent  over  his  plate,  with  elbows  well  out,  wielding 
his  knife  and  fork  with  a  more  obvious  sense  of  enjoyment 
than  usually  obtains  in  the  politer  circles. 

"  Mr.  Durnovo,"  he  said,  with  one  quick  glance  towards 
her.  "  Oh,  he  was  just  behind  Mr.  Oscard.  And  he  fol- 
lows 'im,  and  we  all  shakes  hands  just  as  if  we  was  meet- 
ing in  the  Row,  except  that  most  of  our  hands  was  a  bit 
grimy  and  sticky-like  with  blood  and  the  grease  off'n  the  car- 
tridges." 

"  And,"  said  Marie,  in  an  indirectly  interrogative  way,  as 
she  helped  him  to  a  piece  of  sweet  potato,  "  you  were  glad 
to  see  them,  Mr.  Oscard  and  Mr.  Durnovo — yes?" 

"  Glad  ain't  quite  the  word,"  replied  Joseph,  with  his 
mouth  full. 

"  And  they  were  not  hurt  or — ill  ?" 

"  Oh  no !"  returned  Joseph,  with  another  quick  glance. 
"They  were  all  right.  But  I  don't  like  sitting  here  and 
eatin'  while  you  don't  take  bit  or  sup  yourself.  Won't 
you  chip  in,  Mistress  Marie  ?     Come  now,  do." 

With  her  deep,  patient  smile  she  obeyed  him,  eating 
little  and  carelessly,  like  a  woman  in  some  distress. 


204  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  When  will  they  come  down  to  Loango  ?"  she  asked 
suddenly,  without  looking  at  him. 

"  Ah !  that  I  can't  tell  you.  We  left  quite  in  a  hurry,  as 
one  may  say,  with  nothin'  arranged.  Truth  is,  I  think  we 
all  feared  that  the  guv'nor  had  got  his  route.  He  looked 
very  like  peggin'  out,  and  that's  the  truth.  Howsomever,  I 
hope  for  the  best  now." 

Marie  said  nothing,  merely  contenting  herself  with  at- 
tending to  his  wants,  which  were  numerous  and  frequent. 

"  That  God  -  forsaken  place,  Msala,"  said  Joseph,  present- 
ly "  has  been  rather  crumbled  up  by  the  enemy." 
They  have  destroyed  it — yes  ?" 

"  That  is  so.     You're  right,  they  'ave  destroyed  it. 

Marie  gave  a  quick  little  sigh — one  of  those  sighs  which 
the  worldly-wise  recognize  at  once. 

"  You  don't  seem  over-pleased,"  said  Joseph. 

"  I  was  very  happy  there,"  she  answered. 

Joseph  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  fingering  reflectively  his 
beer-glass. 

"  I'm  afraid,  mistress,"  he  said,  half  shyly,  "  that  your  life 
can't  have  been  a  very  happy  one.  There's  some  folk  that 
is  like  that — through  no  fault  of  their  own,  too,  so  far  as 
our  mortal  vision,  so  to  speak,  can  reckon  it  up." 

"  I  have  my  troubles,  like  other  people,"  she  answered, 
softly. 

Joseph  inclined  his  head  to  one  side  and  collected  his 
bread-crumbs  thoughtfully. 

"  Always  seems  to  me,"  he  said,  "  that  your  married  life 
can't  have  been  so  happy-like  as — well,  as  one  might  say  you 
deserved,  missis.  But  then  you've  got  them  clever  little 
kids.  I  do  like  them  little  kids  wonderful.  Not  bein'  a 
marrying  man  myself,  I  don't  know  much  of  such  matters. 
But  I've  always  understood  that  little  uns — especially  cun- 
ning little  souls  like  yours — go  a  long  way  towards  makin' 
up  a  woman's  happiness." 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured,  with  her  slow  smile. 


A    SLOW    RECOVERY  205 

"  Been  dead  long — their  pa  ?" 

"  He  is  not  dead." 

"  Oh— beg  pardon." 

And  Joseph  drowned  a  very  proper  confusion  in  bitter 
beer. 

"  He  has  only  ceased  to  care  about  me — or  his  children," 
explained  Marie. 

Joseph  shook  his  head ;  but  whether  denial  of  such  a 
possibility  was  intended,  or  an  expression  of  sympathy,  he 
did  not  explain. 

"  I  hope,"  he  said,  with  a  somewhat  labored  change  of 
manner,  "  that  the  little  ones  are  in  good  health." 

"  Yes,  thank  you." 

Joseph  pushed  back  his  chair  with  considerable  vigor, 
and  passed  the  back  of  his  hand  convivially  across  his 
mustache. 

"  A  square  meal  I  call  that,"  he  said,  with  a  pleasant 
laugh,  "and  I  thank  you  kindly." 

With  a  tact  which  is  sometimes  found  wanting  inside  a 
better  coat  than  he  possessed,  Joseph  never  again  referred 
to  that  part  of  Marie's  life  which  seemed  to  hang  like  a 
shadow  over  her  being.  Instead,  he  set  himself  the  task  of 
driving  away  the  dull  sense  of  care  which  was  hers,  and  he 
succeeded  so  well  that  Jack  Meredith,  lying  between  sleep 
and  death  in  his  bedroom,  sometimes  heard  a  new  strange 
laugh. 

By  daybreak  next  morning  Joseph  was  at  sea  again, 
steaming  south  in  a  coasting- boat  towards  St.  Paul  de 
Loanda.  He  sent  off  a  telegram  to  Maurice  Gordon  in 
England,  announcing  the  success  of  the  Relief  Expedition, 
and  then  proceeded  to  secure  the  entire  services  of  a  medi- 
cal man.  With  this  youthful  disciple  of  .zEsculapius  he  re- 
turned forthwith  to  Loango,  and  settled  down  with  char- 
acteristic energy  to  nurse  his  master. 

Meredith's  progress  was  lamentably  slow,  but  still  it  was 
progress,  and  in  the  right  direction.     The  doctor,  who  was 


206  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

wise  in  the  strange  maladies  of  the  West  Coast,  stayed  for 
two  days,  and  promised  to  return  once  a  week.  He  left 
full  instructions,  and  particularly  impressed  upon  tho  two 
nurses  the  fact  that  the  recovery  would  necessarily  be  so 
slow  that  their  unpractised  eyes  could  hardly  expect  to  trace 
its  progress. 

It  is  just  possible  that  Meredith  could  at  this  time  have 
had  no  better  nurse  than  Joseph.  There  was  a  military 
discipline  about  the  man's  method  which  was  worth  more 
than  much  feminine  persuasion. 

"  Beef  tea,  sir,"  he  would  announce  with  a  face  of  wood, 
for  the  sixth  time  in  one  day. 

"  What,  again  ?     No,  hang  it !  I  can't." 

"  Them's  my  orders,  sir,"  was  Joseph's  invariable  reply, 
and  he  was  usually  in  a  position  to  produce  documentary 
confirmation  of  his  statement.  The  two  men — master  and 
servant — had  grown  so  accustomed  to  the  military  discipline 
of  a  besieged  garrison  that  it  did  not  seem  to  occur  to  them 
to  question  the  doctor's  orders. 

Nestorius — small,  stout,  and  silent — was  a  frequenter  of 
the  sick-room,  by  desire  of  the  invalid.  After  laboriously 
toiling  up  the  shallow  stairs — a  work  entailing  huge  effort 
of  limbs  and  chin — he  would  stump  gravely  into  the  room 
without  any  form  of  salutation.  There  are  some  great 
minds  above  such  trifles.  His  examination  of  the  patient 
was  a  matter  of  some  minutes.  Then  he  would  say,  "  Bad 
case,"  with  the  peculiar  mechanical  diction  that  was  his — 
the  words  that  Meredith  had  taught  him  on  the  evening  of 
his  arrival.  After  making  his  diagnosis  Nestorius  usually 
proceeded  to  entertain  the  patient  with  a  display  of  his  treas- 
ures for  the  time  being.  These  were  not  in  themselves  of 
great  value :  sundry  pebbles,  a  trouser-button,  two  shells,  and 
a  glass  stopper  formed,  as  it  were,  the  basis  of  his  collec- 
tion, which  was  increased  or  diminished  according  to  cir- 
cumstances. Some  of  these  he  named;  others  were  exhib- 
ited with  a  single  adjective,  uttered  curtly,  as  between  men 


A    SLOW    RECOVERY  207 

who  required  no  great  tale  of  words  wherewith  to  under- 
stand each  other.  A  few  were  considered  to  be  of  sufficient 
value  and  importance  to  tell  their  own  story  and  make 
their  way  in  the  world  thereupon.  He  held  these  out  with 
a  face  of  grave  and  contemplative  patronage. 

"Never,  Nestorius,"  Meredith  would  say,  gravely,  "in  the 
course  of  along  and  varied  experience,  have  I  seen  a  Worces- 
ter-sauce stopper  of  such  transcendent  beauty." 

Sometimes  Nestorius  clambered  onto  the  bed,  when  the 
mosquito  curtains  were  up,  and  rested  from  his  labors — a 
small,  curled-up  form,  looking  very  comfortable.  And  then, 
when  his  mother's  soft  voice  called  him,  he  was  wont  to 
gather  up  his  belongings  and  take  his  departure.  On  the 
threshold  he  always  paused,  finger  in  mouth,  to  utter  a  val- 
edictory "  Bad  case "  before  making  his  way  down-stairs 
with  a  shadowy,  mystic  smile. 

Kind  neighbors  called,  and  well-meaning  but  mistaken 
dissenting  missionaries  left  religious  works  of  a  morbid 
nature,  eminently  suitable  to  the  sick-bed;  but  Joseph, 
Marie,  and  Nestorius  were  the  only  three  who  had  free  ac- 
cess to  the  quiet  room. 

And  all  the  while  the  rain  fell — night  and  day,  morning, 
noon,  and  evening — as  if  the  floodgates  had  been  left  open 
by  mistake. 

"  Sloobrious,  no  doubt,"  said  Joseph,  "  but  blamed  de- 
pressing." 

And  he  shook  his  head  at  the  lowering  sky  with  a  tol- 
erant smile,  which  was  his  way  of  taking  Providence  to 
task. 

"Do  y'  know  what  I  would  like,  missis?"  he  asked,  brisk- 
ly, of  Marie  one  evening. 

"No." 

"Well,  I'd  like  to  clap  my  eyes  on  Miss  Gordon,  just 
a -stepping  in  at  that  open  door  —  that's  what  we  want. 
That  sawbones  feller  is  right  when  he  says  the  progress  will 
be  slow.     Slow  I     Slow  ain't  quite  the  word.     No  more 


208  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

ain't  progress  the  word — that's  my  opinion.  He  just  lies 
on  that  bed,  and  the  most  he  can  do  is  to  skylark  a  bit  with 
Nestorius.  He  don't  take  no  interest  in  nothin',  least  of  all 
in  his  victuals — and  a  man's  in  a  bad  way  when  he  takes 
no  interest  in  his  victuals.  Yes,  I'll  take  another  pancake, 
thankin'  you  kindly.  You've  got  a  rare  light  hand  for  pan- 
cakes.    Rare — rare  ain't  quite  the  word." 

"  But  what  could  Miss  Gordon  do  ?"  asked  Marie. 

"  Well,  she  could  kinder  interest  him  in  things — don't 
you  see?  Him  and  I  we  ain't  got  much  in  common — ex- 
cept his  clothes  and  that  confounded  beef-tea  and  slushin's. 
And  then  there's  Mr.  Gordon — he's  a  good  hearty  sort,  he 
is  —  comes  galamphin'  into  the  room,  kickin'  a  couple  of 
footstools  and  upsettin'  things  promiscuous.  It  cheers  a 
invalid  up,  that  sort  o'  thing." 

Marie  laughed  in  an  awkward,  unwonted  way. 

"But  it  do,  missis,"  pursued  Joseph,  "wonderful;  and  I 
can't  do  it  myself.  I  tried  the  other  day,  and  master  only 
thought  I'd  been  drinkin'." 

"  You  are  impatient,"  said  Marie.  "  He  is  better,  I  know. 
I  can  see  it.     You  see  it  yourself — yes  ?" 

"A  bit — just  a  bit.  But  he  wants  some  one  of  his  own 
station  in  life,  without  offence,  Mistress  Marie.  Some  one 
as  will  talk  with  him  about  books  and  evenin'  parties  and 
things.  And — "  he  paused  reflectively,  "and  Miss  Gordon 
would  do  that." 

There  was  a  little  silence,  during  which  another  pancake 
met  its  fate. 

"  You  know,"  said  Joseph,  with  sudden  confidence,  "  he's 
goin'  to  marry  a  young  lady  at  home,  in  London ;  a 
young  lady  of  fashion,  as  they  say  —  one  of  them  that's 
got  one  smile  for  men  and  another  for  women.  Not  his 
sort,  as  I  should  have  thought  myself,  knowin'  him  as 
I  do." 

"  Then  why  does  he  marry  her  ?"  asked  Marie. 

"  Ah !"     Joseph  rose,  and  stretched  out  his  arms  with  a 


A    CHANCE    ACQUAINTANCE  209 

freedom  from  restraint  learned  in  the  barrack-room.  "  There 
you're  asking  me  more  than  I  can  tell  you.  I  suppose — it's 
the  old  story — I  suppose  he  thinks  that  she  is  his  sort." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

A    CHANCE    ACQUAINTANCE 

"The  pride  that  prompts  the  bitter  jest." 

A  space  had  with  some  difficulty  been  cleared  at  the  up- 
per end  of  an  aristocratic  London  drawing-room,  and  with 
considerable  enthusiasm  Miss  Fitzmannering  pranced  into 
the  middle  of  it.  Miss  Fitzmannering  had  kindly  allowed 
herself  to  be  persuaded  to  do  "only  a  few  steps"  of  her 
celebrated  skirt  dance.  Miss  Eline  Fitzmannering  officiated 
at  the  piano,  and  later  on,  while  they  were  brushing  their 
hair,  they  quarrelled  because  she  took  the  time  too  quickly. 

The  aristocratic  assembly  looked  on  with  mixed  feelings, 
and  faces  suitable  to  the  same.  The  girls  who  could  not 
skirt-dance  yawned  behind  their  fans — gauze  preferred,  be- 
cause the  Fitzmannerings  could  see  through  gauze  if  they 
could  not  see  through  anything  else.  The  gifted  products 
of  fashionable  Brighton  schools,  who  could  in  their  own 
way  make  exhibitions  of  themselves  also,  wondered  who  on 
earth  had  taught  Miss  Fitzmannering ;  and  the  servants  at 
the  door  felt  ashamed  of  themselves  without  knowing  why. 

Miss  Fitzmannering  had  practised  that  skirt-dance — those 
few  steps — religiously  for  the  last  month.  She  had  been 
taught  those  same  contortions  by  a  young  lady  in  the  pro- 
fession, whom  even  Billy  Fitzmannering  raised  his  eyebrows 
at.  And  every  one  knows  that  Billy  is  not  particular. 
The  performance  was  not  graceful,  and  the  gentlemen  pres- 
ent who  knew  more  about  dancing — skirt  or  otherwise — 


210  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

than  they  cared  to  admit,  pursed  up  the  corners  of  their 
mouths  and  looked  straight  in  front  of  them  —  afraid  to 
meet  the  eye  of  some  person  or  persons  undefined. 

But  the  best  face  there  was  that  of  Sir  John  Meredith. 
He  was  not  bored,  as  were  many  of  his  juniors — at  least,  he 
did  not  look  it.  He  was  neither  shocked  nor  disgusted,  as 
apparently  were  some  of  his  contemporaries — at  least,  his 
face  betrayed  neither  of  those  emotions.  He  was  keenly 
interested — suavely  attentive.  He  followed  each  spasmodic 
movement  with  imperturbably  pleasant  eyes. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  with  one  of  his  courtliest 
bows,  when  at  last  Miss  Fitzmannering  had  had  enough  of 
it,  "  you  have  given  us  a  great  treat — you  have,  indeed." 

"  A  most  unique  performance,"  he  continued,  turning 
gravely  to  Lady  Cautourne,  by  whose  side  he  had  been 
standing  ;  and,  strange  to  say,  her  ladyship,  made  a  reprov- 
ing little  movement  of  the  lips,  and  tapped  his  elbow  sur- 
reptitiously, as  if  he  were  misbehaving  himself. 

He  offered  his  arm  with  a  murmur  of  refreshments,  and 
she  accepted. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  when  they  were  alone  or  nearly  so,  "  do 
you  not  admit  that  it  was  a  most  unique  performance?" 

"Hush  !"  replied  the  lady,  either  because  she  was  a  wom- 
an or  because  she  was  a  woman  of  the  world.  "  The  poor 
girl  cannot  help  it.  She  is  forced  into  it  by  the  exigencies 
of  society,  and  her  mother.     It  is  not  entirely  her  fault." 

"  It  will  be  entirely  my  fault,"  replied  Sir  John,  "  if  I 
see  her  do  it  again." 

"  It  does  not  matter  about  a  man,"  said  Lady  Cantourne, 
after  a  little  pause ;  "  but  a  woman  cannot  afford  to  make  a 
fool  of  herself.  She  ought  never  to  run  the  risk  of  being 
laughed  at.  And  yet  I  am  told  that  they  teach  that  elegant 
accomplishment  at  fashionable  schools." 

"Which  proves  that  the  school  -  mistress  is  a  knave  as 
well  as — the  other  thing." 

They  passed  down  the  long  room  together — a  pattern, 


A    CHANCE    ACQUAINTANCE  211 

to  the  younger  generation,  of  politeness  and  mutual  respect. 
And  that  which  one  or  other  did  not  see  was  not  worth 
comprehension. 

"  Who,"  asked  Sir  John,  when  they  had  passed  into  the 
other  room — "  who  is  the  tall  fair  girl  who  was  sitting  near 
the  fireplace?" 

lie  did  not  seem  to  think  it  necessary  to  ask  Lady  Can- 
tourne  whether  she  had  noticed  the  object  of  his  curiosity. 

"  I  was  just  wondering,"  replied  Lady  Cantourne,  stirring 
her  tea  comfortably.  "  I  will  find  out.  She  interests  me. 
She  is  different  from  the  rest." 

"  And  she  does  not  let  it  be  seen — that  is  what  I  like," 
said  Sir  John.  "  The  great  secret  of  success  in  the  world 
is  to  be  different  from  other  people  and  conceal  the  fact." 
He  stood  his  full  height,  and  looked  round  with  blinking, 
cynical  eyes.  "They  are  all  very  like  each  other,  and  they 
fail  to  conceal  that." 

"  I  dislike  a  person,"  said  Lady  Cantourne,  in  her  tolerant 
way,  "who  looks  out  of  place  anywhere.  That  girl  would 
never  look  so." 

Sir  John  was  still  looking  round,  seeing  all  that  there 
was  to  be  seen,  and  much  that  was  not  intended  for  that 
purpose. 

"  Some  of  them,"  he  said,  "  will  look  self-conscious  in 
heaven." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Lady  Cantourne,  quietly  ;  "  that  is  the 
least  one  may  expect." 

"  I  trust  there  will  be  no  skirt — "  Sir  John  broke  off 
suddenly  with  a  quick  smile. 

"  I  was  about  to  be  profane,"  he  said,  taking  her  cup. 
u  But  I  know  you  do  not  like  it." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  wan  little  smile.  She  was 
wondering  whether  he  remembered  as  well  as  she  did  that 
half  an  ordinary  lifetime  lay  between  that  moment  and  the 
occasion  when  she  had  reproved  his  profanity. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  rising,  "  take  me  back  to  the  drawing- 


212  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

room,  and  I  will  make    somebody    introduce   me  to  the 
girl." 

Jocelyn  Gordon,  sitting  near  the  fire,  talking  to  a  vvhite- 
mustached  explorer,  and  listening  good-naturedly  to  a 
graphic  account  of  travels  which  had  been  put  in  the  back- 
ground by  more  recent  wanderers,  was  somewhat  astounded 
when  the  hostess  came  up  to  her  a  few  minutes  later,  and 
introduced  a  stout  little  lady  with  twinkling,  kindly  eyes 
by  the  name  of  Lady  Cantourne.  She  had  heard  vaguely 
of  Lady  Cantourne  as  a  society  leader  of  the  old  school, 
but  had  no  clew  to  this  obviously  intentional  introduction. 
"You  are  wondering,"  said  Lady  Cantourne,  when  she 
had  sent  the  explorer  on  his  travels  elsewhere  in  order  that 
she  might  have  his  seat — "  you  are  wondering  why  I  asked 
to  know  you." 

She  looked  into  the  girl's  face  with  bright,  searching  eyes. 
"  I  am  afraid  I  was,"  admitted  Jocelyn. 
"  I  have  two  reasons :  one  vulgar — the  other  sentimental. 
The  vulgar  reason  was  curiosity.  I  like  to  know  people 
whose  appearance  prepossesses  me.  I  am  an  old  woman — 
no,  you  need  not  shake  your  head,  my  dear  !  not  with  me — 
I  am  almost  a  very  old  woman,  but  not  quite ;  and  all  my 
life  I  have  trusted  in  appearances.  And,"  she  paused,  study- 
ing the  lace  of  her  fan,  "  I  suppose  I  have  not  made  more 
mistakes  than  other  people.  I  have  always  made  a  point 
of  trying  to  get  to  know  people  whose  appearance  I  like. 
That  is  my  vulgar  reason.  You  do  not  mind  my  saying  so 
—do  you  ?" 

Jocelyn   laughed  with  slightly  heightened  color,  which 
Lady  Cantourne  noted  with  an  appreciative  little  nod. 

"  My  other  reason  is  that,  years  ago  at  school,  I  knew  a 

girl  who  was  very  like  you.     I  loved  her  intensely — for  a 

short  time — as  girls  do  at  school,  you  know.     Her  name 

was  Treseaton — the  Honorable  Julia  Treseaton." 

"  My  mother !"  said  Jocelyn,  eagerly. 

"  I  thought  so.     I  did  not  think  so  at  first,  but  when  you 


A    CHANCE    ACQUAINTANCE  213 

spoke  I  was  certain  of  it.  She  had  a  way  with  her  lips. 
I  am  afraid  she  is  dead." 

"  Yes ;  she  died  nearly  twenty-five  years  ago  in  Africa." 

"Africa?     Whereabouts  in  Africa?" 

Then  suddenly  Jocelyn  remembered  where  she  had 
heard  Lady  Cantourne's  name.  It  had  only  been  men- 
tioned to  her  once.  And  this  was  the  aunt  with  whom 
Millicent  Chyne  lived.  This  cheery  little  lady  knew  Jack 
Meredith  and  Guy  Oscard ;  and  Millicent  Chyne's  daily  life 
was  part  of  her  existence. 

"The  West  Coast,"  she  answered,  vaguely.  She  wanted 
time  to  think — to  arrange  things  in  her  mind.  She  was 
afraid  of  the  mention  of  Jack's  name  in  the  presence  of 
this  woman  of  the  world.  She  did  not  mind  Maurice  or 
Guy  Oscard  —  but  it  was  different  with  a  woman.  She 
could  hardly  have  said  a  better  thing,  because  it  took  Lady 
Cantourne  some  seconds  to  work  out  in  her  mind  where 
the  West  Coast  of  Africa  was. 

"  That  is  the  unhealthy  coast,  is  it  not  ?"  asked  her  lady- 
ship. 

"Yes." 

Jocelyn  hardly  heard  the  question.  She  was  looking 
round  with  a  sudden  breathless  eagerness.  It  was  probable 
that  Millicent  Chyne  was  in  the  rooms ;  and  she  never 
doubted  that  she  would  know  her  face. 

"  And  I  suppose  you  know  that  part  of  the  world  very 
well  ?"  said  Lady  Cantourne,  who  had  detected  a  change  in 
her  companion's  manner. 

"  Oh  yes." 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  of  a  place  called  Loango  ?" 

11  Oh  yes.     I  live  there." 

"  Indeed,  how  very  interesting !  I  am  very  much  inter- 
ested in  Loango  just  now,  I  must  tell  you.  But  I  did  not 
know  that  anybody  lived  there." 

"  No  one  does  by  choice,"  explained  Jocelyn.  "  My  fa- 
ther was  a  judge  on  the  Coast,  and  since  his  death  my 


214  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

brother  Maurice  has  held  an  appointment  at  Loango.     We 
are  obliged  to  live  there  for  eight  months  in  the  twelve." 

She  knew  it  was  coming.  But,  as  chance  would  have  it, 
it  was  easier  than  she  could  Lave  hoped.  For  some  reason 
Lady  Cantourne  looked  straight  in  front  of  her  when  she 
asked  the  question. 

"  Then  you  have,  no  doubt,  met  a  friend  of  mine,  Mr. 
Meredith  ?  Indeed,  two  friends;  for  I  understand  that  Gruy 
Oscard  is  associated  with  him  in  this  wonderful  discovery." 

"  Oh  yes,"  replied  Jocelyn,  with  a  carefully  modulated  in- 
terest. "  I  have  met  them  both.  Mr.  Oscard  lunched 
with  us  shortly  before  we  left  Africa." 

"  Ah,  that  was  when  he  disappeared  so  suddenly.  We 
never  got  quite  to  the  base  of  that  affair.  He  left  at  a 
moment's  notice  on  receipt  of  a  telegram  or  something, 
only  leaving  a  short  and  somewhat  vague  note  for  my — 
for  us.  He  wrote  from  Africa,  I  believe,  but  I  never  heard 
the  details.  I  imagine  Jack  Meredith  was  in  some  difficulty. 
But  it  is  a  wonderful  scheme  this,  is  it  not  ?  They  are 
certain  to  make  a  fortune,  I  understand." 

"  So  people  say,"  replied  Jocelyn.  It  was  a  choice  to  tell 
all — to  tell  as  much  as  she  herself  knew — or  nothing.  So 
she  told  nothing.  She  could  not  say  that  she  had  been 
forced  by  a  sudden  breakdown  of  her  brother's  health  to 
leave  Loango  while  Jack  Meredith's  fate  was  still  wrapped 
in  doubt.  She  could  not  tell  Lady  Cantourne  that  all  her 
world  was  in  Africa — that  she  was  counting  the  days  until 
she  could  go  back  there.  She  could  not  lift  for  a  second 
the  veil  that  hid  the  aching,  restless  anxiety  in  ber  heart, 
the  life-absorbing  desire  to  know  whether  Guy  Oscard  had 
reached  the  Plateau  in  time.  Her  heart  was  so  sore  that 
she  could  not  even  speak  of  Jack  Meredith's  danger. 

"How  strange,"  said  Lady  Cantourne,  "  to  think  that  you 
are  actually  living  in  Loango,  and  that  you  are  the  last  per- 
son who  has  spoken  to  Jack  Meredith !  There  are  two 
people  in  this  house  to  -  night  who  would  like  to  ask  you 


A    CHANCE    ACQUAINTANCE  215 

questions  from  now  till  morning,  but  neither  of  them  will 
do  it.  Did  you  see  me  go  through  the  room  just  now  with 
a  tall  gentleman — rather  old  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Jocelyn. 

"That  was  Sir  John  Meredith,  Jack's  father,"  said  Lady 
Cantourne,  in  a  lowered  voice.  "  They  have  quarrelled,  you 
know.  People  say  that  Sir  John  does  not  care — that  he  is 
heartless,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  The  world  never  says 
the  other  sort  of  thing,  one  finds.  But — 'but  I  think  I 
know  to  the  contrary.  He  feels  it  very  deeply.  He  would 
give  worlds  to  hear  some  news  of  Jack ;  but  he  won't  ask 
it,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jocelyn,  "  I  understand." 

She  saw  what  was  coming,  and  she  desired  it  intensely, 
while  still  feeling  afraid — as  if  they  were  walking  on  some 
sacred  ground  and  might  at  any  moment  make  a  false 
step. 

"  I  should  like  Sir  John  to  meet  you,"  said  Lady  Can- 
tourne, pleasantly.  "Will  you  come  to  tea  some  after- 
noon ?  Strange  to  say,  he  asked  who  you  were  not  half  an 
hour  ago.  It  almost  seems  like  instinct,  does  it  not?  I  do 
not  believe  in  mystic  things  about  spirits  and  souls  going 
out  to  each  other,  and  all  that  nonsense ;  but  I  believe  in 
instinct.  Will  you  come  to-morrow?  You  are  here  to- 
night with  Mrs.  Sander,  are  you  not?  I  know  her.  She 
will  let  you  come  alone.  Five  o'clock.  You  will  see  my 
niece,  Millicent.  She  is  engaged  to  be  married  to  Jack 
Meredith,  you  know.  That  is  why  they  quarrelled  —  the 
father  and  son.  You  will  find  a  little  difficulty  with  her, 
too.  She  is  a  difficult  girl.  But  I  dare  say  you  will  man- 
age to  tell  her  what  she  wants  to  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jocelyn,  quietly  —  almost  too  quietly,  "  I 
shall  manage." 

Lady  Cantourne  rose,  and  so  did  Jocelyn. 

"  You  know,"  she  said,  looking  up  into  the  girl's  face, 
"  it  is  a  good  action.     That  is  why  I  ask  you  to  do  it.     It 


216  "WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

is  not  often  that  one  has  the  opportunity  of  doing  a  good 
action,  to  which  even  one's  dearest  friend  cannot  attribute 
an  ulterior  motive !     Who  is  that  man  over  there  ?" 

"That  is  my  brother." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  him  ;  but  do  not  bring  him  to- 
morrow.    We  women  are  better  alone — you  understand  ?" 

With  a  confidential  little  nod,  the  great  lady  went  away 
to  attend  to  other  affairs ;  possibly  to  carry  through  some 
more  good  actions  of  a  safe  nature. 

It  was  plain  to  Jocelyn  that  Maurice  was  looking  for 
some  one.  He  had  just  come,  and  was  making  his  way 
through  the  crowd.  Presently  she  managed  to  touch  his 
elbow. 

"  Ob,  there  you  are !"  he  exclaimed ;  "  I  want  you.  Come 
out  of  this  room." 

He  offered  her  his  arm,  and  together  they  made  their 
way  out  of  the  crowded  room  into  a  smaller  apartment 
where  an  amateur  reciter  was  hovering  disconsolately,  await- 
ing an  audience. 

"Here,"  said  Maurice,  when  they  were  alone,  "I  have 
just  had  this  telegram." 

He  handed  her  the  thin  white  submarine  telegraph-form 
with  its  streaks  of  adhesive  text. 

"Relief  entirely  successful.  Meredith — Joseph — returned — Loan- 
go.     Meredith  bad  health." 

Jocelyn  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"So  that's  all  right — eh?"  said  Maurice,  heartily. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Jocelyn,  "  that  is  all  right." 


CHAPTER   XXX 

OLD    BIRDS 

"Angels  call  it  heavenly  joy; 
Infernal  tortures  the  devils  say; 
And  men  ?     They  call  it — Love." 

"  By-the-way,  dear,"  said  Lady  Cantourne  to  her  niece 
the  next  afternoon,  "  I  have  asked  a  Miss  Gordon  to  come 
to  tea  this  afternoon.  I  met  her  last  night  at  the  Fitz- 
mannerings'.  She  lives  in  Loango  and  knows  Jack.  I 
thought  you  might  like  to  know  her.  She  is  exceptionally 
lady-like  and  rather  pretty." 

And  straightway  Miss  Millicent  Chyne  went  up-stairs  to 
put  on  her  best  dress. 

We  men  cannot  expect  to  understand  these  small  matters 
— these  exigencies,  as  it  were,  of  female  life.  But  we  may 
be  permitted  to  note  feebly  en  passant  through  existence 
that  there  are  occasions  when  women  put  on  their  best 
clothes  without  the  desire  to  please.  And,  while  Millicent 
Chyne  was  actually  attiring  herself,  Jocelyn  Gordon,  in  an- 
other house  not  so  far  away,  was  busy  with  that  beauti- 
ful hair  of  hers,  patting  here,  drawing  out  there,  piuuing, 
poking,  pressing  with  all  the  cunning  that  her  fingers  pos- 
sessed. 

When  they  met  a  little  later  in  Lady  Cantourne's  un- 
compromisingly solid  and  old-fashioned  drawing-room,  one 
may  be  certain  that  nothing  was  lost. 

"  My  aunt  tells  me,"  began  Millicent  at  once,  with  that 
degage  treatment  of  certain  topics  hitherto  held  sacred 
which  obtains  among  young  folks  to-day,  "  that  you  know 
Loango." 


218  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  Oh  yes— I  live  there." 

"  And  you  know  Mr.  Meredith  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  Mr.  Oscard  also." 

There  was  a  little  pause  while  two  politely  smiling  pairs 
of  eyes  probed  each  other. 

"  She  knows  something — how  much  ?"  was  behind  one 
pair  of  eyes. 

"  She  cannot  find  out — I  am  not  afraid  of  her,"  behind 
the  other. 

And  Lady  Cantourne,  the  proverbial  looker-on,  slowly 
rubbed  her  white  hands  one  over  the  other. 

"  Ab,  yes,"  said  Millicent,  unblushingly — that  was  her 
strong  point,  blushing  in  the  right  place,  but  not  in  the 
wrong — "  Mr.  Oscard  ;  he  is  associated  with  Mr.  Meredith, 
is  he  not,  in  this  hare-brained  scheme?" 

"I  believe  they  are  together  in  it — the  Siraiacine,  you 
mean  ?"  said  Jocelyn. 

"  What  else  could  she  mean  ?"  reflected  the  looker-on. 

"Yes — the  Siraiacine.  Such  a  singular  name,  is  it  not? 
I  always  say  they  will  ruin  themselves  suddenly.  People 
always  do,  don't  they?  But  what  do  you  think  of  it?  I 
should  like  to  know." 

"  I  think  they  certainly  will  make  a  fortune,"  replied 
Jocelyn — and  she  noted  the  light  in  Millicent's  eyes  with  a 
sudden  feeliDg  of  dislike — "  unless  the  risks  prove  too  great 
and  they  are  forced  to  abandon  it." 

"  What  risks?"  asked  Millicent,  quite  forgetting  to  mod- 
ulate her  voice. 

"Well,  of  course,  the  Ogowe  River  is  most  horribly  un- 
healthy, and  there  are  other  risks.  The  natives  in  the  plains 
surrounding  the  Simiacine  Plateau  are  antagonistic.  In- 
deed, the  Plateau  was  surrounded  and  quite  besieged  when 
we  left  Africa." 

It  may  have  hurt  Millicent,  but  it  hurt  Jocelyn  more — 
for  the  smile  had  left  her  hearer's  face.  She  was  off  her 
guard,  as  she  had  been  once  before  when  Sir  John  was  near, 


OLD    BIRDS  219 

and  Millicent' s  face  betrayed  something  which  Jocelyn  saw 
at  once  with  a  sick  heart — something  that  Sir  John  knew 
from  the  morning  when  he  had  seen  Millicent  open  two 
letters  —  something  that  Lady  Cantourne  had  known  all 
along. 

"And  was  Mr.  Meredith  on  the  Plateau  when  it  was  be- 
sieged ?"  asked  Millicent,  with  a  drawn,  crooked  smile. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Jocelyn.  She  could  not  help  seizing 
the  poor  little  satisfaction  of  this  punishment ;  but  she  felt 
all  the  while  that  it  was  nothing  to  the  punishment  she  was 
bearing  and  would  bear  all  her  life.  There  are  few  more 
contradictory  things  than  the  heart  of  a  women  who  really 
loves.  For  one  man  it  is  very  tender  ;  for  the  rest  of  the 
world  it  is  the  hardest  heart  on  earth  if  it  is  called  upon  to 
defend  the  object  of  its  love  or  the  love  itself. 

"  But,"  cried  Millicent,  "  of  course,  something  was  done. 
They  could  never  leave  Mr.  Meredith  unprotected." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Jocelyn,  quietly,  "  Mr.  Oscard  went  up 
and  rescued  him.  My  brother  heard  yesterday  that  the  re- 
lief had  been  effected." 

Millicent  smiled  again  in  her  light-hearted  way. 

"  That  is  all  right,"  she  said.  "  What  a  good  thing  we 
did  not  know  !  Just  think,  auntie  dear,  what  a  lot  of  anx- 
iety we  have  been  spared  !" 

"  In  the  height  of  the  season,  too  !"  said  Jocelyn. 

"  Ye — es,"  replied  Millicent,  rather  doubtfully. 

Lady  Cantourne  was  puzzled.  There  was  something  going 
on  which  she  did  not  understand.  Within  the  sound  of  the 
pleasant  conversation  there  was  the  cliquetis  of  the  foil ;  be- 
hind the  polite  smile  there  was  the  gleam  of  steel.  She  was 
rather  relieved  to  turn  at  this  moment  and  see  Sir  John  Mer- 
edith entering  the  room  with  his  usual  courtly  bow.  He 
always  entered  her  drawing-room  like  that.  Ah  !  that  lit- 
tle secret  of  a  mutual  respect.  Some  people  who  are  young 
now  will  wish,  before  they  have  grown  old,  that  they  had 
known  it, 


220  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

He  shook  hands  with  Lady  Cantourne  and  with  Millicent. 
Then  he  stood  with  a  deferential  half-bow,  waiting  for  the 
introduction  to  the  girl  who  was  young  enough  to  be  his 
daughter — almost  to  be  his  granddaughter.  There  was 
something  pathetic  and  yet  proud  in  this  old  man's  uncom- 
promising adherence  to  the  lessons  of  his  youth. 

"  Sir  John  Meredith— Miss  Gordon." 

The  beginning — the  thin  end  of  the  wedge,  as  the  homely 
saying  has  it — the  end  which  we  introduce  almost  every  day 
of  our  lives,  little  suspecting  to  what  it  may  broaden  out. 

"I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  last  night,"  said  Sir 
John  at  once,  "at  Lady  Fitzmannering's  evening  party,  or 
'  At  Home,'  I  believe  we  call  them  nowadays.  Some  of  the 
guests  read  the  invitation  too  much  au  pied  de  la  lettre  for 
my  taste.  They  were  so  much  at  home  that  I,  fearing  to 
intrude,  left  rather  early." 

"I  believe  the  skirt-dancing  frightened  you  away,  Sir 
John,"  said  Millicent,  merrily. 

"Even  old  birds,  my  dear  young  lady,  may  sometimes  be 
alarmed  by  a  scarecrow." 

"  I  missed  you  quite  early  in  the  evening,"  put  in  Lady 
Cantourne,  sternly  refusing  to  laugh.  She  had  not  had  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  him  since  her  conversation  with  Joce- 
lyn,  and  the  dangers  of  the  situation  were  fully  appreciated 
by  such  an  experienced  woman  of  the  world. 

"  They  began  to  clear  the  upper  end  of  the  room,"  he 
explained,  "  and  I  assisted  them  in  the  most  practical  man- 
ner in  my  power." 

He  was  beginning  to  wonder  why  he  had  been  invited — 
nay,  almost  commanded — to  come,  by  an  imperious  little 
note.  And  of  late,  whenever  Sir  John  began  to  wonder  he 
began  also  to  feel  old.  Hb  fingers  strayed  towards  his  un- 
steady lips  as  if  he  were  about  to  make  one  of  those  little 
movements  of  senile  helplessness  to  which  he  sometimes 
gave  way. 

For  a  moment  Lady  Cantourne  hesitated  between  two 


Old  birds  221 

strokes  of  social  diplomacy — but  only  for  a  moment.  She 
had  heard  the  bell  ring,  and  trusted  that  at  the  other  end 
of  the  wire  there  might  be  one  of  those  fatuous  young  men 
who  nibbled  at  that  wire  like  foolish  fish  round  a  gilt  spoon- 
bait. Her  ladyship  decided  to  carry  on  the  social  farce  a 
few  minutes  longer,  instead  of  offering  the  explanation  which 
all  were  awaiting. 

"  We  women,"  she  said,  "  were  not  so  early  deterred 
from  our  social  duties." 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  there  entered  a 
complex  odor  of  hair-wash  and  perfumery — a  collar  which 
must  have  been  nearly  related  to  a  cuff,  and  a  pair  of  tight 
patent-leather  boots,  all  attached  to  and  somewhat  over- 
powering a  young  man. 

"Ah,  my  dear  Mr.  Grubb,"  said  Lady  Cantourne,  "how 
good  of  you  to  call  so  soon  !  You  will  have  some  tea.  Mil- 
licent,  give  Mr.  Grubb  some  tea." 

"Not  too  strong,"  added  Sir  John,  apparently  to  him- 
self, under  the  cover  of  Mr.  Grubb's  somewhat  scrappy 
greeting. 

Then  Lady  Cantourne  went  to  the  conservatory  and  left 
Sir  John  and  Jocelyn  at  the  end  of  the  long  room  together. 
There  is  nothing  like  a  woman's  instinct.  Jocelyn  spoke  at 
once. 

"  Lady  Cantourne,"  she  said,  "  kindly  asked  me  to  meet 
you  to-day  on  purpose.  I  live  at  Loango ;  I  know  your 
son,  Mr.  Meredith,  and  we  thought  you  might  like  to  hear 
about  him  and  about  Loango." 

She  knew  that  with  a  man  like  Sir  John  any  indirect  ap- 
proach to  the  subject  would  be  courting  failure.  His  veiled 
old  eyes  suddenly  lighted  up,  and  he  turned  to  glance  over 
his  shoulder. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  strange  hesitation,  "  yes — you  are 
kind.  Of  course  I  am  interested.  I  wonder,"  he  went  on, 
with  a  sudden  change  of  manner — "I  wonder  how  much  you 
know." 


222  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

His  unsteady  hand  was  resting  on  her  gloved  fingers,  and 
he  blinked  at  it  as  if  wondering  how  it  got  there. 

Jocelyn  did  not  seem  to  notice. 

"  I  know,"  she  answered,  "  that  you  have  had  a  difference 
of  opinion — but  no  one  else  knows !  You  must  not  think 
that  Mr.  Meredith  has  spoken  of  his  private  affairs  to  any 
one  else.  The  circumstances  were  exceptional,  and  Mr. 
Meredith  thought  that  it  was  due  to  me  to  give  me  an  ex- 
planation." 

Sir  John  looked  a  little  puzzled,  and  Jocelyn  went  on 
rather  hastily  to  explain  : 

"  My  brother  and  Mr.  Meredith  were  at  Eton  together. 
They  met  somewhere  up  the  Coast,  and  my  brother  asked 
Mr.  Meredith  to  come  and  stay.  It  happened  that  Maurice 
was  away  when  Mr.  Meredith  arrived,  and  I  did  not  know 
who  he  was,  so  he  explained." 

"I  see,"  said  Sir  John.  "And  you  and  your  brother 
have  been  kind  to  my  boy." 

Somehow  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  to  be  cynical.  He 
had  never  known  what  it  is  to  have  a  daughter,  and  she  was 
ignorant  of  the  pleasant,  everyday  amenities  of  a  father's 
love.  As  there  is  undoubtedly  such  a  thing  as  love  at  first 
sight,  so  must  there  be  sympathy  at  first  sight.  For  Jocelyn 
it  was  comprehensible — nay,  it  was  most  natural.  This  was 
Jack's  father.  In  his  manner,  in  everything  about  him, 
there  were  suggestions  of  Jack.  This  seemed  to  be  a 
creature  hewn,  as  it  were,  from  the  same  material,  moulded 
on  the  same  lines  with  slightly  divergent  tools.  And  for 
him — who  can  tell  ?  The  love  that  was  in  her  heart  may 
have  reached  out  to  meet  almost  as  great  a  love  locked  up 
in  his  proud  soul.  It  may  have  shown  itself  to  him,  openly, 
fearlessly,  recklessly, as  love  sometimes  does  when  it  is  strong 
and  pure. 

He  had  carefully  selected  a  seat  within  the  shadow  of 
the  curtains  ;  but  Jocelyn  saw  quite  suddenly  that  he  was 
an  older  man  than  she  had  taken  him  to  be  the  evening  be- 


OLD    BIRDS  223 

fore.  She  saw  through  the  deception  of  the  piteous  wig — ■ 
the  whole  art  that  strove  to  conceal  the  sure  decay  of  the 
body,  despite  the  desperate  effort  of  a  mind  still  fresh  and 
vigorous. 

"  And  I  dare  say,"  he  said,  with  a  somewhat  lame  attempt 
at  cynicism,  "that  you  have  heard  no  good  of  me?" 

But  Jocelyn  would  have  none  of  that.  She  was  no  child 
to  be  abashed  by  sarcasm ;  but  a  woman,  completed  and 
perfected  by  her  love. 

"  Excuse  me,"  she  said,  sharply ;  "  but  that  is  not  the 
truth,  and  you  kuow  it.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that 
your  son  would  never  say  a  word  against  you." 

Sir  John  looked  hastily  round.  Lady  Cantourne  had 
come  into  the  room  and  was  talking  to  the  two  young  peo- 
ple. Millicent  was  glancing  uneasily  over  Mr.  Grubb's  brain- 
less cranium  towards  them.  Sir  John's  stiff,  unsteady  fin- 
gers fumbled  for  a  moment  round  his  lips. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  was  wrong." 

"He  has  always  spoken  of  you  with  the  greatest  love  and 
respect,"  said  Jocelyn.  "  More  than  that,  with  admiration. 
But  he  very  rarely  spoke  of  you  at  all,  which  I  think  means 
more." 

Sir  John  blinked,  and  suddenly  pulled  himself  together 
with  a  backward  jerk  of  the  arms  which  was  habitual 
with  him.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  he  said  to  himself, 
as  he  squared  his  shoulders,  "  Come,  no  giving  way  to 
old  age !" 

"  Has  his  health  been  good  ?"  he  asked,  rather  formally. 

"  I  believe  so,  until  quite  lately.  My  brother  heard  yes- 
terday by  telegram  that  he  was  at  Loango  in  broken  health," 
replied  Jocelyn. 

Sir  John  was  looking  at  her  keenly — his  hard  blue  eyes 
like  steel  between  the  lashless  lids. 

"  You  disquiet  me,"  he  said.  "  I  have  a  sort  of  feeling 
that  you  have  bad  news  to  tell  me." 

"  No,"  she  answered,  "  not  exactly.     But  it  seems  to  me 


224  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

that  no  one  realizes  what  he  is  doing  out  in  Africa — what 
risks  he  is  running." 

"  Tell  rne,"  he  said,  drawing  in  his  chair.  "  I  will  not 
interrupt  you.  Tell  me  all  you  know  from  beginning  to 
end.     I  am  naturally — somewhat  interested." 

So  Jocelyn  told  him.  And  what  she  said  was  only  a  re- 
capitulation of  facts  known  to  such  as  have  followed  these 
pages  to  this  point.  But  the  story  did  not  sound  quite  the 
same  as  that  related  to  Millicent.  It  was  fuller,  and  there 
were  certain  details  touched  upon  lightly  which  had  before 
been  emphasized — details  of  dangers  run  and  risks  incurred. 
Also  was  it  listened  to  in  a  different  spirit,  without  shallow 
comment,  with  a  deeper  insight.  Suddenly  he  broke  into 
the  narrative.  He  saw — keen  old  worldling  that  he  was — 
a  discrepancy. 

"  But,"  he  said,  "  there  was  no  one  in  Loango  connected 
with  the  scheme  who " — he  paused,  touching  her  sleeve 
with  a  bony  finger  —  "who  sent  the  telegram  home  to 
young  Oscard — the  telegram  calling  him  out  to  Jack's  re- 
lief?" 

"  Oh,"  she  explained,  lightly,  "  I  did.  My  brother  was 
away,  so  there  was  no  one  else  to  do  it,  you  see !" 

"Yes— I  see." 

And  perhaps  he  did. 

Lady  Cantourne  helped  them  skilfully.  But  there  came 
a  time  when  Millicent  would  stand  it  no  longer,  and  the 
amiable  Grubb  wriggled  out  of  the  room,  crushed  by  a  too 
obvious  dismissal. 

Sir  John  rose  at  once,  and  when  Millicent  reached  them 
they  were  talking  of  the  previous  evening's  entertainment. 

Sir  John  took  his  leave.  He  bowed  over  Jocelyn's  hand, 
and  Millicent,  watching  them  keenly,  could  see  nothing — 
no  gleam  of  a  mutual  understanding  in  the  politely  smiling 
eyes. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said,  "  I  may  have  the  pleasure  of  meet- 
ing you  again  ?" 


SEED-TIME  225 

11 1  am  afraid  it  is  doubtful,"  she  answered,  with  some- 
thing that  sounded  singularly  like  exultation  in  her  voice. 
"  We  are  goinec  back  to  Africa  almost  at  once." 

And  she,  also,  took  her  leave  of  Lady  Cantourne. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

SEED-TIME 

"  What  Fate  does,  let  Fate  answer  for." 

One  afternoon  Joseph  had  his  wish.  Moreover,  he  had 
it  given  to  him  even  as  he  desired,  which  does  not  usually 
happen.  We  are  given  a  part,  or  the  whole,  so  distorted 
that  we  fail  to  recognize  it. 

Joseph  looked  up  from  his  work  and  saw  Jocelyn  coming 
into  the  bungalow  garden. 

He  went  out  to  meet  her,  putting  on  his  coat  as  he  went. 

"  How  is  Mr.  Meredith  ?"  she  asked  at  once.  Her  eyes 
were  very  bright,  and  there  was  a  sort  of  breathlessness  in 
her  manner  which  Joseph  did  not  understand. 

"  He  is  a  bit  better,  miss,  thank  you  kindly.  But  he 
don't  make  the  progress  I  should  like.  It's  the  weakness 
that  follows  the  malarial  attack  that  the  doctor  has  to  fight 
against." 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  asked  Jocelyn. 

"  Well,  miss,  at  the  moment  he  is  in  the  drawing-room. 
We  bring  him  down  there  for  the  change  of  air  in  the  af- 
ternoon.    Likely  as  not,  he's  asleep." 

And  presently  Jack  Meredith,  lying  comfortably  somno- 
lent on  the  outskirts  of  life,  heard  light  footsteps,  but  hard- 
ly heeded  them.  He  knew  that  some  one  came  into  the 
room  and  stood  silently  by  his  couch  for  some  seconds.  He 
lazily  unclosed  his  eyelids  for  a  moment,  not  in  order  to  see 


226  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

who  was  there,  but  with  a  view  of  intimating  that  he  was 
not  asleep.  But  he  was  not  wholly  conscious.  To  men  ac- 
customed to  an  active,  energetic  life,  a  long  illness  is  noth- 
ing but  a  period  of  complete  rest.  In  his  more  active  mo- 
ments Jack  Meredith  sometimes  thought  that  this  rest  of 
his  was  extending  into  a  dangerously  long  period,  but  he 
was  too  weak  to  feel  anxiety  about  anything. 

Jocelyn  moved  away  and  busied  herself  noiselessly  with 
one  or  two  of  those  small  duties  of  the  sick-room  which 
women  see  and  men  ignore.  But  she  could  not  keep  away. 
She  came  back  and  stood  over  him  with  a  silent  sense  of 
possession  which  made  that  moment  one  of  the  happiest  of 
her  life.  She  remembered  it  in  after-years,  and  the  com- 
plex feelings  of  utter  happiness  and  complete  misery  that 
filled  it. 

At  last  a  fluttering  moth  gave  the  excuse  her  heart  longed 
for,  and  her  fingers  rested  for  a  moment,  light  as  the  moth 
itself,  on  his  hair.  There  was  something  in  the  touch  which 
made  him  open  his  eyes — uncomprehending  at  first,  and 
then  filled  with  a  sudden  life. 

"  Ah !"  he  said,  "  you— you  at  last  1" 

He  took  her  hand  in  both  of  his.  He  was  weakened  by 
illness  and  a  great  fatigue  Perhaps  he  was  off  his  guard, 
or  only  half  awake. 

"  I  never  should  have  got  better  if  you  had  not  come,"  he 
said.  Then,  suddenly,  he  seemed  to  recall  himself,  and  rose 
with  an  effort  from  his  recumbent  position. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  said,  with  a  return  of  his  old  half- 
humorous  manner,  "  whether  to  thank  you  first  for  your 
hospitality  or  to  beg  your  pardon  for  making  such  unscru- 
pulous use  of  it." 

She  was  looking  at  him  closely  as  he  stood  before  her, 
and  all  her  knowledge  of  human  ills  as  explored  on  the 
West  Coast  of  Africa,  all  her  experience,  all  her  powers  of 
observation,  were  on  the  alert.  He  did  not  look  very  ill. 
The  brown  of  a  year's  sunburn  such  as  he  had  gone  through 


SEED-TIME  227 

on  the  summit  of  an  equatorial  mountain,  where  there  was 
but  little  atmosphere  between  earth  and  sun,  does  not  bleach 
off  in  a  couple  of  months.  Physically  regarded,  he  was 
stronger,  broader,  heavier-limbed,  more  robust  than  when 
she  had  last  seen  him — but  her  knowledge  went  deeper 
than  complexion,  or  the  passing  effort  of  a  strong  will. 

"Sit  down,"  she  said,  quietly.  "You  are  not  strong- 
enough  to  stand  about." 

He  obeyed  her  with  a  little  laugh. 

"  You  do  not  know,"  he  said,  "  how  pleasant  it  is  to  see 
you — fresh  and  English-looking.  It  is  like  a  tonic.  Where 
is  Maurice?" 

"He  will  be  here  soon,"  she  replied;  "  he  is  attending  to 
the  landing  of  the  stores.  We  will  soon  make  you  strong 
and  well ;  for  we  have  come  laden  with  cases  of  delicacies 
for  your  special  delectation.  Your  father  chose  them  him- 
self at  Fortnum  &  Mason's." 

He  winced  at  the  mention  of  his  father's  name,  and  drew 
in  his  legs  in  a  peculiar,  decisive  way. 

"  Then  you  knew  I  was  ill  ?"  he  said,  almost  suspiciously. 

"  Yes ;  Joseph  telegraphed." 

"To  whom?"  sharply. 

"To  Maurice." 

Jack  Meredith  nodded  his  head.  It  was  perhaps  just  as 
well  that  the  communicative  Joseph  was  not  there  at  that 
moment. 

"  We  did  not  expect  you  for  another  ten  days,"  said 
Meredith  after  a  little  pause,  as  if  anxious  to  change  the 
subject.  "  Marie  said  that  your  brother's  leave  was  not  up 
until  the  week  after  next." 

Jocelyn  turned  away,  apparently  to  close  the  window. 
She  hesitated.  She  could  not  tell  him  what  had  brought 
them  back  sooner — what  had  demanded  of  Maurice  Gordon 
the  sacrifice  of  ten  days  of  his  holiday. 

"  We  do  not  always  take  our  full  term,"  she  said,  vaguely. 

And  he  never  saw  it.     The  vanity  of  man  is  a  strange 


228  WITH   EDGED    TOOLS 

thing.  It  makes  him  see  intentions  that  were  never  Con- 
ceived ;  and  without  vanity  to  guide  his  perception  man  is 
as  blind  a  creature  as  walks  upon  this  earth. 

"  However,"  he  said,  as  if  to  prove  his  own  density,  "  I 
am  selfishly  very  glad  that  you  had  to  come  back  sooner. 
Not  only  on  account  of  the  delicacies —  I  must  ask  you  to 
believe  that.  Did  my  eye  brighten  at  the  mention  of  Fort- 
num  &  Mason  ?     I  am  afraid  it  did." 

She  laughed  softly.  She  did  not  pause  to  think  that  it 
was  to  be  her  daily  task  to  tend  him  and  help  to  make  him 
stronger  in  order  that  he  might  go  away  without  delay. 
She  only  knew  that  every  moment  of  the  next  few  weeks 
was  going  to  be  full  of  a  greater  happiness  than  she  had 
ever  tasted.  As  we  get  deeper  into  the  slough  of  life  most 
of  us  learn  to  be  thankful  that  the  future  is  hidden — some 
of  us  recognize  the  wisdom  and  the  mercy  which  decree  that 
even  the  present  be  only  partly  revealed. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,"  she  said,  lightly,  "  I  suppose  that 
you  loathe  all  food  ?" 

"  Loathe  it,"  he  replied.  He  was  still  looking  at  her,  as 
if  in  enjoyment  of  the  Englishness  and  freshness  of  which 
he  had  spoken.  "  Simply  loathe  it.  All  Joseph's  tact  and 
patience  are  required  to  make  me  eat  even  eleven  meals  in 
the  day.     He  would  like  thirteen." 

At  this  moment  Maurice  came  in  —  Maurice  —  hearty, 
eager,  full  of  life.  He  blustered  in  almost  as  Joseph  had 
prophesied,  kicking  the  furniture,  throwing  his  own  vitality 
into  the  atmosphere.  Jocelyn  knew  that  he  liked  Jack 
Meredith  —  and  she  knew  more.  She  knew,  namely,  that 
Maurice  Gordon  was  a  different  man  when  Jack  Meredith 
was  in  Loango.  From  Meredith's  presence  he  seemed  to 
gather  a  sense  of  security  and  comfort  even  as  she  did  —  a 
sense  which  in  herself  she  understood  (for  women  analyze 
love),  but  which  in  her  brother  puzzled  her. 

"  Well,  old  chap,"  said  Maurice,  "  glad  to  see  you.  I  am 
glad  to   see   you.     Thank  Heaven  you  were  bowled  over 


SEED -TIME  229 

by  that  confounded  malaria,  for  otherwise  we  should  have 
missed  you." 

"  That  is  one  way  of  looking  at  it,"  answered  Meredith. 
But  he  did  not  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  it  was  a  way  which 
had  not  previously  suggested  itself  to  him. 

"  Of  course  it  is.  The  best  way,  I  take  it.  Well — how 
do  you  feel  ?     Come,  you  don't  look  so  bad." 

"  Oh — much  better,  thanks.  I  have  got  on  splendidly  the 
last  week,  and  better  still  the  last  five  minutes !  The  worst 
of  it  is  that  I  shall  be  getting  well  too  soon  and  shall  have 
to  be  off." 

"  Home  ?"  inquired  Maurice,  significantly. 

Jocelyn  moved  uneasily. 

"  Yes,  home." 

"  We  don't  often  hear  people  say  that  they  are  sorry  to 
leave  Loango,"  said  Maurice. 

"/  will  oblige  you  whenever  you  are  taken  with  the 
desire,"  answered  Jack,  lightly  ;  "  Loango  has  been  a  very 
good  friend  to  me.  But  I  am  afraid  there  is  no  choice. 
The  doctor  speaks  very  plain  words  about  it.  Besides,  I 
am  bound  to  go  home." 

"  To  sell  the  Simiacine  ?"  inquired  Maurice. 

"  Yes." 

"  Have  you  the  second  crop  with  you  ?" 

"Yes." 

"And  the  trees  have  improved  under  cultivation?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Jack,  rather  wonderingly.  "  You  seem 
to  know  a  lot  about  it." 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  replied  Maurice,  boisterously. 

"From  Durnovo?" 

"  Yes,  he  even  offered  to  take  me  into  partnership." 

Jack  turned  on  him  in  a  flash. 

"  Did  he  indeed  ?     On  what  conditions?" 

And  then,  when  it  was  too  late,  Maurice  saw  his  mistake. 
It  was  not  the  first  time  that  the  exuberance  of  his  nature 
bad  got  him  into  a  difficulty. 


230  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  vaguely.  "  It's  a  long 
story.     I'll  tell  you  about  it  some  day." 

Jack  would  have  left  it  there  for  the  moment.  Maurice 
Gordon  had  made  his  meaning  quite  clear  by  glancing  sig- 
nificantly towards  his  sister.  Her  presence,  he  intimated, 
debarred  further  explanation. 

But  Jocelyn  would  not  have  it  thus.  She  shrewdly  sus- 
pected the  nature  of  the  bargain  proposed  by  Durnovo,  and 
a  sudden  desire  possessed  her  to  have  it  all  out — to  drag 
this  skeleton  forth  and  flaunt  it  in  Jack  Meredith's  face. 
The  shame  of  it  all  would  have  a  certain  sweetness  behind 
its  bitterness ;  because,  forsooth,  Jack  Meredith  alone  was 
to  witness  the  shame.  She  did  not  pause  to  define  the  feel- 
ing that  rose  suddenly  in  her  heart.  She  did  not  know  that 
it  was  merely  the  pride  of  her  love — the  desire  that  Jack 
Meredith,  though  he  would  never  love  her,  should  know 
once  for  all  that  such  a  man  as  Victor  Durnovo  could  be 
nothing  but  repugnant  to  her. 

"  If  you  mean,"  she  said,  "  that  you  cannot  tell  Mr. 
Meredith  because  I  am  here,  you  need  not  hesitate  on  that 
account." 

Maurice  laughed  awkwardly,  and  muttered  something 
about  matters  of  business.  He  was  not  good  at  this  sort 
of  thing.  Besides,  there  was  the  initial  handicapping  knowl- 
edge that  Jocelyn  was  so  much  cleverer  than  himself. 

"  Whether  it  is  a  matter  of  business  or  not,"  she  cried, 
with  glittering  eyes, "  I  want  you  to  tell  Mr.  Meredith  now. 
He  has  a  right  to  know.  Tell  him  upon  what  condition 
Mr.  Durnovo  proposed  to  admit  you  into  the  Simiacine." 

Maurice  still  hesitated,  bewildered,  at  a  loss — such  as  men 
are  when  a  seemingly  secure  secret  is  suddenly  discovered 
to  the  world.  He  would  still  have  tried  to  fend  it  off;  but 
Jack  Meredith,  with  his  keener  perception,  saw  that  Jocelyn 
was  determined — that  further  delay  would  only  make  the 
matter  worse. 

"If  your  sister  wants  it,"  he  said;  "you,  had  better  t«# 


SEED-TIME  231 

me.     I  am  not  tbe  sort  of  man  to  act  rashly — on  the  im- 
pulse of  the  moment." 

Still  Maurice  tried  to  find  some  means  of  evasion. 

"  Then,"  cried  Jocelyn,  with  flaming  cheeks,  "  i"  will  tell 
you.  You  were  to  be  admitted  into  the  Siraiacine  scheme 
by  Mr.  Durnovo  if  you  could  persuade  or  force  me  to  marry 
him." 

None  of  them  had  foreseen  this.  It  had  come  about  so 
strangely,  and  yet  so  easily,  in  the  midst  of  their  first  greet- 
ings. 

"  Yes,"  admitted  Maurice,  "  that  was  it." 

"And  what  answer  did  you  give?"  asked  Jocelyn. 

"  Oh,  I  told  him  to  go  and  hang  himself — or  words  to 
that  effect,"  was  the  reply,  delivered  with  a  deprecating 
laugh. 

"  Was  that  your  final  answer  ?"  pursued  Jocelyn,  inexo- 
rable. Her  persistence  surprised  Jack.  Perhaps  it  surprised 
herself. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so." 

"  Are  you  sure?" 

"  Well,  he  cut  up  rough  and  threatened  to  make  things 
disagreeable ;  so  I  think  I  said  that  it  was  no  good  his  ask- 
ing me  to  do  anything  in  the  matter,  as  I  didn't  know 
your  feelings." 

"Well,  you  can  tell  him,"  cried  Jocelyn,  hotly,  "that  nev- 
er, under  any  circumstances  whatever,  would  I  dream  even 
of  the  possibility  of  marrying  him." 

And  the  two  men  were  alone. 

Maurice  Gordon  gazed  blankly  at  the  closed  door. 

"  How  was  I  to  know  she'd  take  it  like  that?"  he  asked, 
helplessly. 

And  for  once  the  polished  gentleman  of  the  world  for- 
got himself — carried  away  by  a  sudden  unreasoning  anger 
which  surprised  him  almost  as  much  as  it  did  Maurice 
Gordon. 

"  Why,  you  damned  fool,"  said  Jack,  "  any  idiot  would 


232  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

have  known  that  she  would  take  it  like  that.  How  could 
she  do  otherwise  ?  You,  her  brother,  ought  to  know  that 
to  a  girl  like  Miss  Gordon  the  idea  of  marrying  such  a  low 
brute  as  Durnovo  could  only  be  repugnant.  Durnovo — 
why,  he  is  not  good  enough  to  sweep  the  floor  that  she  has 
stood  upon  !  He's  not  fit  to  speak  to  her ;  and  you  go  on 
letting  him  come  to  the  house,  sickening  her  with  his  beast- 
ly attentions  !  You're  not  capable  of  looking  after  a  lady  ! 
I  would  have  kicked  Durnovo  through  that  very  window 
myself,  only  " — he  paused,  recalling  himself  with  a  little 
laugh — "  only  it  was  not  my  business." 

Maurice  Gordon  sat  down  forlornly.  He  tapped  his 
boot  with  his  cane. 

"  Oh,  it's  very  well  for  you,"  he  answered,  "  but  I'm  not 
a  free  agent.  /  can't  afford  to  make  an  enemy  of  Dur- 
novo." 

"  You  need  not  have  made  an  enemy  of  him,"  said  Jack, 
and  he  saved  Maurice  Gordon  by  speaking  quickly— saved 
him  from  making  a  confession  which  could  hardly  have 
failed  to  alter  both  their  lives. 

"It  will  not  be  very  difficult,"  he  went  on  ;  all  she  wants 
is  your  passive  resistance.  She  does  not  want  you  to  help 
him — do  you  see?  She  can  do  the  rest.  Girls  can  manage 
these  things  better  than  we  think,  if  they  want  to.  The 
difficulty  usually  arises  from  the  fact  that  they  are  not  al- 
ways quite  sure  that  they  do  want  to.  Go  and  beg  her  par- 
don.    It  will  be  all  right." 

So  Maurice  Gordon  went  away  also,  leaving  Jack  Mere- 
dith alone  in  the  drawing-room  with  his  own  thoughts. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

AN    ENVOY 

"What  we  love  perfectly 
For  its  own  sake  we  love  .  .  . 
.  .  .  That  which  is  best  for  it  is  best  for  us." 

"  Feel  like  gettin'  tip  to  breakfast,  do  you,  sir?"  said 
Joseph  to  his  master  a  few  days  later.  "  Well,  I  am  glad. 
Glad  ain't  quite  the  word,  though  !" 

And  he  proceeded  to  perform  the  duties  attendant  on  his 
master's  wardrobe  with  a  wise,  deep-seated  shake  of  the 
head.  While  setting  the  shaving  necessaries  in  order  on 
the  dressing-table,  he  went  further — he  winked  gravely  at 
himself  in  the  looking-glass. 

"  You've  made  wonderful  progress  the  last  few  days,  sir," 
he  remarked.  "  I  always  told  Missis  Marie  that  it  would  do 
you  a  lot  of  good  to  have  Mr.  Gordon  to  heart  you  up  with 
his  cheery  ways — and  Miss  Gordon  too,  sir." 

"  Yes,  but  they  would  not  have  been  much  good  without 
all  your  care  before  they  came.  I  had  turned  the  corner  a 
week  ago — I  felt  it  myself." 

Joseph  grinned — an  honest,  open  grin  of  self-satisfaction. 
He  was  not  one  of  those  persons  who  like  their  praise  be- 
stowed with  subtlety. 

"  Wonderful !"  ho  repeated  to  himself,  as  he  went  to  the 
well  in  the  garden  for  his  master's  bath-water.  "  Wonder- 
ful !  but  I  don't  understand  things — not  bein'  a  marryin' 
man." 

During  the  last  few  days  Jack's  progress  had  been  rapid 
enough  even  to  satisfy  Joseph.  The  doctor  expressed  him- 
self fully  reassured,  and  even  spoke  of  returning  no  more. 


234  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

But  be  repeated  his  wish  that  Jack  should  leave  for  Eng- 
land without  delay. 

"  He  is  quite  strong  enough  to  be  moved  now,"  be  fin- 
ished by  saying.    "There  is  no  reason  for  further  delay." 

"  No,"  answered  Jocelyn,  to  whom  the  order  was  spoken. 
"  No — none.     We  will  see  that  he  goes  by  the  next  boat." 

The  doctor  paused.  He  was  a  young  man  who  took  a 
strong — perhaps  too  strong  a  personal  interest  in  his  pa- 
tients. Jocelyn  had  walked  with  him  as  far  as  the  gate, 
with  only  a  parasol  to  protect  her  from  the  evening  sun. 
They  were  old  friends.  The  doctor's  wife  was  one  of  Joce- 
lyn's  closest  friends  on  the  Coast. 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  Meredith's  future  move- 
ments?" he  asked.  "Does  he  intend  to  come  out  here 
again  ?" 

"  I  could  not  tell  you.  I  do  not  think  they  have  settled 
yet.  But  I  think  that  when  he  gets  home  he  will  probably 
stay  there." 

"Best  thing  he  can  do — best  thing  he  can  do.  It  will 
never  do  for  him  to  risk  getting  another  taste  of  malaria — 
tell  him  so,  will  you  ?     Good-bye." 

"  Yes,  I  will  tell  him." 

And  Jocelyn  Gordon  walked  slowly  back  to  tell  the  man 
she  loved  that  he  must  go  away  from  her  and  never  come 
back.  The  last  few  days  had  been  days  of  complete  happi- 
ness. There  is  no  doubt  that  women  have  the  power  of  en- 
joying the  present  to  a  greater  degree  than  men.  They  can 
live  in  the  bliss  of  the  present  moment  with  eyes  continually 
averted  from  the  curtain  of  the  near  future  which  falls 
across  that  bliss  and  cuts  it  off.  Men  allow  the  presence  of 
the  curtain  to  mar  the  brightness. 

These  days  had  been  happier  for  Jocelyn  than  for  Jack, 
because  she  was  conscious  of  the  fulness  of  every  moment, 
while  he  was  merely  rejoicing  in  comfort  after  hardship,  in 
pleasant  society  after  loneliness.  Even  with  the  knowledge 
that  it  could  not  last,  that  beyond  the  near  future  lay  a 


AN    ENVOY  235 

whole  lifetime  of  complete  solitude  and  that  greatest  of  all 
miseries,  the  desire  of  an  obvious  impossibility — even  with 
this  she  was  happier  than  he ;  because  she  loved  him  and 
she  saw  him  daily  getting  stronger ;  because  their  relative 
positions  brought  out  the  best  and  the  least  romantic  part 
of  a  woman's  love — the  subtle  maternity  of  it.  There  is  a 
fine  romance  in  carrying  our  lady's  kerchief  in  an  inner 
pocket,  but  there  is  something  higher  and  greater  and  much 
more  durable  in  the  darning  of  a  sock  ;  for  within  the  hand- 
kerchief there  is  chiefly  gratified  vanity,  while  within  the 
sock  there  is  one  of  those  small  infantile  boots  which  have 
but  little  meaning  for  us. 

Jocelyn  entered  the  drawing-room  with  a  smile. 

"  He  is  very  pleased,"  she  said.  "  He  does  not  seem  to 
want  to  see  you  any  more,  and  he  told  me  to  be  inhospit- 
able." 

"  As  how  ?" 

"  He  told  me  to  turn  you  out.  You  are  to  leave  by  the 
next  steamer." 

He  felt  a  sudden  unaccountable  pang  of  disappointment 
at  her  smiling  eyes. 

"  This  is  no  joking  matter,"  he  said,  half  seriously.  "  Am 
I  really  as  well  as  that  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  The  worst  of  it  is  that  you  seem  rather  pleased." 

"I  am  —  at  the  thought  that  you  are  so  much  better." 
She  paused  and  turned  quite  away,  busying  herself  with  a 
pile  of  books  and  magazines.  "  The  other,"  she  went  on 
too  indifferently,  "  was  unfortunately  to  be  foreseen.  It  is 
the  necessary  drawback." 

He  rose  suddenly  and  walked  to  the  window. 

"The  grim  old  necessary  drawback,"  he  said,  without 
looking  towards  her. 

There  was  a  silence  of  some  duration.  Neither  of  them 
seemed  to  be  able  to  find  a  method  of  breaking  it  without 
awkwardness.     It  was  she  who  spoke  at  last. 


236  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  He  also  said,"  she  observed  in  a  practical  way,  "  that 
you  must  not  come  out  to  Africa  again." 

He  turned  as  if  he  had  been  stung. 

"  Did  he  make  use  of  that  particular  word  ?"  he  asked. 

"Which  particular  word?" 

"  Must." 

Jocelyn  had  not  foreseen  the  possibility  that  the  doctor 
was  merely  repeating  to  her  what  he  had  told  Jack  on  a 
previous  visit. 

"  No,"  she  answered.     "  I  think  he  said,  '  better  not.'  " 

"And  you  make  it  into  'must.'" 

She  laughed,  with  a  sudden  light-heartedness  which  re- 
mained unexplained. 

"  Because  I  know  you  both,"  she  answered.  "  For  him 
'  better  not '  stands  for  '  must.'  With  you  '  better  not ' 
means  '  doesn't  matter.' " 

"'Better  not'  is  so  weak  that  if  one  pits  duty  against  it 
it  collapses.  I  cannot  leave  Oscard  in  the  lurch,  especially 
after  his  prompt  action  in  coming  to  my  relief." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  guardedly.  "  I  like  Mr.  Oscard's  way 
of  doing  things." 

The  matter  of  the  telegram  summoning  Oscard  had  not 
yet  been  explained.  She  did  not  want  to  explain  it  at  that 
moment;  indeed,  she  hoped  that  the  explanation  would 
never  be  needed. 

"  However,"  she  added,  "  you  will  see  when  you  get 
home." 

He  laughed. 

"  The  least  pleasant  part  of  it  is,"  he  said,  "  your  evident 
desire  to  see  the  last  of  me.  Could  you  not  disguise  that  a 
little — just  for  the  sake  of  my  feelings  ?" 

"  Book  your  passage  by  the  next  boat  and  I  will  promptly 
descend  to  the  lowest  depths  of  despair,"  she  replied,  lightly. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  short  laugh. 

"This  is  hospitality  indeed,"  he  said,  moving  towards  the 
door. 


AN   ENVOY  237 

Then  suddenly  he  turned  and  looked  at  her  gravely. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  if  you  are  doing  this  for  a 
purpose.     You  said  that  you  met  my  father — " 

"  Your  father  is  not  the  man  to  ask  any  one's  assistance 
in  his  own  domestic  affairs,  and  anything  I  attempted  to  do 
could  only  be  looked  upon  as  the  most  unwarrantable  inter- 
ference." 

"  Yes,"  said  Meredith,  seriously.  "  I  beg  your  pardon  ; 
you  are  right." 

He  went  to  his  own  room  and  summoned  Joseph. 

"  When  is  the  next  boat  home  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Boat  on  Thursday,  sir." 

Meredith  nodded.  After  a  little  pause  he  pointed  to  a 
chair. 

"  Just  sit  down,"  he  said ;  "  I  want  to  talk  over  this 
Simiacine  business  with  you." 

Joseph  squared  his  shoulders,  and  sat  down  with  a  face 
indicative  of  the  gravest  attention.  Sitting  thus  he  was  no 
longer  a  servant,  but  a  partner  in  the  Simiacine.  He  even 
indulged  in  a  sidelong  jerk  of  the  head,  as  if  requesting  the 
attention  of  some  absent  friend  in  a  humble  sphere  of  life 
to  this  glorious  state  of  affairs. 

"You  know,"  said  Meredith,  "Mr.  Durnovo  is  more  or 
less  a  blackguard." 

Joseph  drew  in  his  feet,  having  previously  drawn  his 
trousers  up  at  the  knees. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  said,  glancing  up.  "A  blackguard  —  a 
damned  blackguard,"  he  added,  unofficially  under  his  breath. 

"  He  wants  continual  watching  and  a  special  treatment. 
He  requires  some  one  constantly  at  his  heels." 

"Yes,  sir,"  admitted  Joseph,  with  some  fervor. 

"  Now  I  am  ordered  home  by  the  doctor,"  went  on  Mere- 
dith. "I  must  go  by  the  next  boat ;  but  I  don't  like  to  go 
and  leave  Mr.  Oscard  in  the  lurch,  with  no  one  to  fall  back 
upon  but  Durnovo — you  understand." 

Joseph's  face  had  assumed  the  habitual  look  of  servitude ; 


238  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

he  was  no  longer  a  partner,  but  a  mere  retainer,  with  a  half- 
comic  resignation  in  his  eyes. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  scratching  the  back  of  his  neck.  "I  am  afraid 
I  understand.  You  want  me  to  go  back  to  that  Platter — - 
that  God-forsaken  Platter,  as  I  may  say." 

"  Yes,"  said  Meredith ;  "  that  is  about  it.  I  would  go 
myself — " 

"God  bless  you  !  I  know  you  would!"  burst  in  Joseph. 
"You'd  go  like  winkin'.  There's  no  one  knows  that  better 
nor  me,  sir;  and  what  I  says  is,  'like  master,  like  man.' 
Game,  sir — game  it  is !  I'll  go.  I'm  not  the  man  to  turn 
my  back  on  a  pal — a — a  partner,  sir,  so  to  speak." 

"  You  see,"  said  Meredith,  with  the  deep  insight  into  men 
that  made  command  so  easy  to  him — "  you  see  there  is  no 
one  else.  There  is  not  another  man  in  Africa  who  could 
do  it." 

"  That's  true,  sir." 

"  And  I  think  that  Mr.  Oscard  will  be  looking  for  you." 

"  And  he  won't  need  to  look  long,  sir.  But  I  should 
like  to  see  you  safe  on  board  the  boat ;  then  I'm  ready  to 
go." 

"  Right.  "We  can  both  leave  by  Thursday's  boat,  and 
we'll  get  the  captain  to  drop  you  and  your  men  at  Lopez. 
We  can  get  things  ready  by  then,  I  think." 

"  Easy,  sir." 

The  question  thus  settled,  there  seemed  to  be  no  necessity 
to  prolong  the  interview.  But  Joseph  did  not  move.  Mer- 
edith waited  patiently. 

"  I'll  go  up,  sir,  to  the  Platter,"  said  the  servant,  at  length, 
"  and  I'll  place  myself  under  Mr.  Oscard's  orders ;  but  be- 
fore I  go  I  want  to  give  you  notice  of  resignation.  I  re- 
signs my  partnership  in  this  'ere  Simiacine  at  six  months 
from  to-day.  It's  a  bit  too  hot,  sir,  that's  the  truth.  It's  all 
very  well  for  gentlemen  like  yourself  and  Mr.  Oscard,  with 
fortunes  and  fine  houses,  and,  as  sayin'  goes,  a  wife  apiece 
waiting  for  you  at  home — it's  all  very  well  for  you  to  go 


AN    ENVOY  239 

about  in  this  blamed  country  with  ycr  life  in  yer  hand,  and 
not  a  tight  grip  at  that.  But  for  a  poor  soldier-man  like 
myself,  what  has  smelt  the  regulation-powder  all  'is  life,  and 
hasn't  got  nothing  to  love  and  no  gal  waiting  for  him  at 
home — well,  it  isn't  good  enough.  That's  what  I  say,  sir, 
with  respects." 

He  added  the  last  two  words  by  way  of  apology  for  hav- 
ing banged  a  very  solid  fist  on  the  table. 

Meredith  smiled. 

"So  you've  had  enough  of  it?"  he  said. 

"  Enough  ain't  quite  the  word,  sir.  Why,  I'm  wore  to  a 
shadow  with  the  trouble  aud  anxiety  of  getting  you  down 
here." 

"  Fairly  substantial  shadow,"  commented  Meredith. 

"Maybe,  sir.  But  I've  had  enough  of  money -makin'. 
It's  too  dear  at  the  price.  And  if  you'll  let  an  old  servant 
speak  his  mind,  it  ain't  fit  for  you,  this  'ere  kind  of  work. 
It's  good  enough  for  black  scum  and  for  chocolate-birds  like 
Durnovo;  but  this  country's  not  built  for  honest  white  men 
— least  of  all  for  born  and  bred  gentlemen." 

"  Yes ;  that's  all  very  well  in  theory,  Joseph,  and  I'm  much 
obliged  to  you  for  thinking  of  me  ;  but  you  must  remember 
that  we  live  in  an  age  when  money  sanctifies  everything. 
Your  hands  can't  get  dirty  if  there  is  money  inside  them." 

Joseph  laughed  aloud. 

"  Ah,  that's  your  way  of  speaking,  sir,  that's  all.  And 
I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  You  have  not  spoken  like  that  for 
two  months  and  more." 

"  No ;  it  is  only  my  experience  of  the  world." 

"  Well,  sir,  talkin'  of  experience,  I've  had  about  enough, 
as  I  tell  you,  and  I  beg  to  place  my  resignation  in  your 
hands.  I  shall  do  the  same  by  Mr.  Oscard  if  I  reach  that 
Platter,  God  willin',  as  the  sayin'  is." 

"  All  right,  Joseph." 

Still  there  was  something  left  to  say.  Joseph  paused  and 
scratched  the  back  of  his  neck  pensively  with  one  finger. 


240  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  Will  you  be  writin'  to  Mr.  Oscard,  sir,  for  me  to  take  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  I  should  be  obliged  if  you  would  mention  the  fact 
that  I  would  rather  not  be  left  alone  with  that  blackguard 
Durnovo,  either  up  at  the  Platter  or  travelling  down.  That 
man's  got  on  my  nerves,  sir,  and  I'm  mortal  afraid  of  doing 
him  a  injury.  He's  got  a  long  neck — you've  noticed  that, 
perhaps.  There  was  a  little  Gourkha  man  up  in  Cabul 
taught  me  a  trick ;  it's  as  easy  as  killing  a  chicken,  but  you 
want  a  man  wi'  a  long  neck — just  such  a  neck  as  Durnovo's." 

"But  what  harm  has  the  man  done  you,"  asked  Meredith, 
"  that  you  think  so  affectionately  of  his  neck  ?" 

"  No  harm,  sir,  but  we're  just  like  two  cats  on  a  wall, 
watchin'  each  other  and  hating  each  other  like  blue  poison. 
There's  more  villany  at  that  man's  back  than  you  think  for 
— mark  my  words." 

Joseph  moved  away  towards  the  door. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  him  —  anything  shady  ?" 
cried  Meredith  after  him. 

"  No,  sir.  I  don't  know  anything.  But  I  suspects  a 
whole  boxful.  One  of  these  days  I'll  find  him  out,  and 
if  I  catch  him  fair  there'll  be  a  rough-and-tumble.  It'll 
be  a  pretty  fight,  sir,  for  them  that's  sittin'  in  the  front 
row." 

Joseph  rubbed  his  hands  slowly  together  and  departed, 
leaving  his  master  to  begin  a  long  letter  to  Guy  Oscard. 

And  at  the  other  end  of  the  passage,  in  her  room  with 
the  door  looked,  Jocelyn  Gordon  was  sobbing  in  a  wild 
burst  of  grief,  because  she  had  probably  saved  the  life  of 
Jack  Meredith,  and  in  doing  so  had  only  succeeded  in  send- 
ing him  away  from  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
DARK    DEALING 

"Only  an  honest  man  doing  his  duty." 

When  Jack  Meredith  said  that  there  was  not  another 
man  in  Africa  who  could  make  his  way  from  Loango  to  the 
Simiacine  Plateau  he  spoke  no  more  than  the  truth.  There 
were  only  four  men  in  all  the  world  who  knew  the  way, 
and  two  of  them  were  isolated  on  the  summit  of  a  lost 
mountain  in  the  interior.  Meredith  himself  was  unfit  for 
the  journey.     There  remained  Joseph. 

True,  there  were  several  natives  who  had  made  the  jour- 
ney, hut  they  were  as  dumb  and  driven  animals,  fighting  as 
they  were  told,  carrying  what  they  were  given  to  carry, 
walking  as  many  miles  as  they  were  considered  able  to  walk. 
They  hired  themselves  out  like  animals,  and  as  the  beasts  of 
the  field  they  did  their  work  —  patiently,  without  intelli- 
gence. Half  of  them  did  not  know  where  they  were  going 
— what  they  were  doing;  the  other  half  did  not  care.  So 
much  work  so  much  wage  was  their  terse  creed.  They 
neither  noted  their  surroundings  nor  measured  distance.  At 
the  end  of  their  journey  they  settled  down  to  a  life  of  ease 
and  leisure,  which  was  to  last  until  necessity  drove  them  to 
work  again.  Such  is  the  African.  Many  of  them  came 
from  distant  countries,  a  few  were  Zanzibaris,  and  went 
home  made  men. 

If  any  doubt  the  inability  of  such  men  to  steer  a  course 
through  the  wood,  let  him  remember  that  three  months' 
growth  in  an  African  forest  will  obliterate  the  track  left  by 
the  passage  of  an   army.     If  any  hold  that  men  are  not 


242  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

created  so  dense  and  unambitious  as  has  just  been  repre- 
sented, let  him  look  nearer  home  in  our  own  merchant  ser- 
vice. The  able-bodied  seaman  goes  to  sea  all  his  life,  but 
he  never  gets  any  nearer  navigating  the  ship — and  he  a 
white  man. 

In  coming  down  to  Loango  Joseph  had  had  the  recently- 
made  track  of  Oscard's  rescuing  party  to  guide  him  day  by 
day.  He  knew  that  this  was  now  completely  overgrown. 
The  Simiacine  Plateau  was  once  more  lost  to  all  human 
knowledge. 

And  up  there  —  alone  amid  the  clouds  —  Guy  Oscard 
was,  as  he  himself  tersely  put  it,  "  sticking  to  it."  He  had 
stuck  to  it  to  such  good  effect  that  the  supply  of  fresh 
young  Simiacine  was  daily  increasing  in  bulk.  Again, 
Victor  Durnovo  seemed  to  have  regained  his  better  self. 
He  was  like  a  full-blooded  horse — tractable  enough  if  kept 
hard  at  work.  He  was  a  different  man  up  on  the  Plateau 
to  what  he  was  down  at  Loango.  There  are  some  men  who 
deteriorate  in  the  wilds,  while  others  are  better,  stronger, 
finer  creatures  away  from  the  luxury  of  civilization  and  the 
softening  influence  of  female  society.  Of  these  latter  was 
Victor  Durnovo. 

Of  one  thing  Guy  Oscard  soon  became  aware — namely, 
that  no  one  could  make  the  men  work  as  could  Durnovo. 
He  had  merely  to  walk  to  the  door  of  bis  tent  to  make 
every  picker  on  the  little  plateau  bend  over  his  tree  with 
renewed  attention.  And  while  above  all  was  eagerness  and 
hurry,  below,  in  the  valley,  this  man's  name  insured  peace. 

The  trees  were  now  beginning  to  show  the  good  result 
of  pruning  and  a  regular  irrigation.  Never  had  the  leaves 
been  so  vigorous,  never  had  the  Simiacine-trees  borne  such 
a  bushy,  luxuriant  growth  since  the  dim,  dark  days  of  the 
Flood. 

Oscard  relapsed  into  his  old  hunting  ways.  Day  after 
day  he  tranquilly  shouldered  bis  rifle,  and  alone,  or  followed 
by  one  attendant  only,  he  disappeared  into  the  forest,  only 


DARK    DEALING  243 

to  emerge  therefrom  at  sunset.  What  he  saw  there  he  never 
spoke  of.  Sure  it  was  that  he  must  have  seen  strange  things, 
for  no  prying  white  man  had  set  foot  in  these  wilds  before 
him ;  no  book  has  ever  been  written  of  that  country  that 
lies  around  the  Simiacine  Plateau. 

He  was  not  the  man  to  worry  himself  over  uncertainties. 
He  had  an  enormous  faith  in  the  natural  toughness  of  an 
Englishman,  and  while  he  crawled  breathlessly  in  the  track 
of  the  forest  monsters  he  hardly  gave  a  thought  to  Jack 
Meredith.  Meredith,  he  argued  to  himself,  had  always  risen 
to  the  occasion :  why  should  he  not  rise  to  this?  He  was  not 
the  sort  of  man  to  die  from  want  of  staying  power,  which, 
after  all,  is  the  cause  of  more  deaths  than  we  dream  of. 
And  when  he  had  recovered  he  would  either  return  or  send 
back  Joseph  with  a  letter  containing  those  suggestions  of  his 
which  were  really  orders. 

Of  Millicent  Chyne  he  thought  more  often,  with  a  certain 
tranquil  sense  of  a  good  time  to  come.  In  her  also  he 
placed  a  perfect  faith.  A  poet  has  found  out  that,  if  one 
places  faith  in  a  man,  it  is  probable  that  the  man  will  rise 
to  trustworthiness  —  of  woman  he  says  nothing.  But  of 
these  things  Guy  Oscard  knew  little.  He  went  his  own  tran- 
quilly strong  way,  content  to  buy  his  own  experience. 

He  was  thinking  of  Millicent  Chyne  one  misty  morning 
while  he  walked  slowly  backward  and  forward  before  his 
tent.  His  knowledge  of  the  country  told  him  that  the  mist 
was  nothing  but  the  night's  accumulation  of  moisture  round 
the  summit  of  the  mountain ;  that  down  in  the  valleys  it 
was  clear,  and  that  half  an  hour's  sunshine  would  disperse 
all.  He  was  waiting  for  this  result  when  he  heard  a  rifle- 
shot far  away  in  the  haze  beneath  him  ;  and  he  knew  that 
it  was  Joseph  —  probably  making  one  of  those  marvel- 
lous long  shots  of  his  which  roused  a  sudden  sigh  of  envy 
in  the  heart  of  this  mighty  hunter  whenever  he  witnessed 
them. 

Oscard  immediately  went  to  his  tent  and  came  out  with 


244  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

his  short-barrelled,  evil-looking  rifle  on  his  arm.  He  fired 
both  barrels  in  quick  succession  and  waited,  standing  grave- 
ly on  the  edge  of  the  Plateau.  After  a  short  silence  two 
answering  reports  rose  up  through  the  mist  to  his  straining 
ears. 

He  turned  and  found  Victor  Durnovo  standing  at  his 
side. 

"What  is  that?"  asked  the  half-breed. 

"  It  must  be  Joseph,"  answered  Guy,  "  or  Meredith.  It 
can  be  nobody  else." 

"  Let  us  hope  that  it  is  Meredith,"  said  Durnovo,  with  a 
forced  laugh,  "  but  I  doubt  it." 

Oscard  looked  down  in  his  sallow,  powerful  face.  He 
was  not  quick  at  such  things,  but  at  that  moment  he  felt 
strangely  certain  that  Victor  Durnovo  was  hoping  that 
Meredith  was  dead. 

"  I  hope  it  isn't,"  he  answered,  and  without  another  word 
he  strode  away  down  the  little  pathway  from  the  summit 
into  the  clouds,  loading  his  rifle  as  he  went. 

Durnovo  and  his  men,  working  among  the  Simiacine 
bushes,  heard  from  time  to  time  a  signal  shot  as  the  two 
Englishmen  groped  their  way  towards  each  other  through 
the  everlasting  night  of  the  African  forest. 

It  was  mid-day  before  the  new-comers  were  espied  making 
their  way  painfully  up  the  slope,  and  Joseph's  welcome  was 
not  so  much  in  Durnovo's  hand-shake,  in  Guy  Oscard's  silent 
approval,  as  in  the  row  of  grinning,  good-natured  black  faces 
behind  Durnovo's  back. 

That  night  laughter  was  heard  in  the  men's  camp  for  the 
first  time  for  many  weeks — nay,  several  months.  According 
to  the  account  that  Joseph  gave  to  his  dusky  admirers,  he 
had  been  on  terms  of  the  closest  familiarity  with  the  wives 
and  families  of  all  who  had  such  at  Loano-o  or  on  the  Coast. 
He  knew  the  mother  of  one,  had  met  the  sweetheart  of 
another,  and  confessed  that  it  was  only  due  to  the  fact  that 
he  was  not  "  a  marryin'  man  "  that  he  had  not  stayed  at 


DARK     DEALING  245 

Loango  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  It  was  somewhat  singular 
that  he  had  nothing  but  good  news  to  give. 

Durnovo  heard  the  clatter  of  tongues,  and  Guy  Oscard, 
smoking  his  contemplative  pipe  in  a  camp-chair  before 
his  hut  door,  noticed  that  the  sound  did  not  seem  very 
welcome. 

Joseph's  arrival  with  ten  new  men  seemed  to  give  a  fresh 
zest  to  the  work,  and  the  carefully  packed  cases  of  Simiacine 
began  to  fill  Oscard's  tent  to  some  inconvenience.  Thus 
things  went  on  for  two  tranquil  weeks. 

"  First,"  Oscard  had  said,  "  let  us  get  the  crop  in,  and 
then  we  can  arrange  what  is  to  be  done  about  the  future." 

So  the  crop  received  due  attention  ;  but  the  two  leaders  of 
the  men — he  who  led  by  fear  and  he  who  commanded  by 
love — were  watching  each  other. 

One  evening,  when  the  work  was  done,  Oscard's  medita- 
tions were  disturbed  by  the  sound  of  angry  voices  behind 
the  native  camp.  He  turned  naturally  towards  Durnovo's 
tent,  and  saw  that  he  was  absent.  The  voices  rose  and  fell ; 
there  was  a  singular  accompanying  roar  of  sound  which  Os- 
card never  remembered  having  heard  before.  It  was  the  pro- 
testing voice  of  a  mass  of  men — and  there  is  no  sound  like 
it  —  none  so  disquieting.  Oscard  listened  attentively,  and 
suddenly  he  was  thrown  upon  his  feet  by  a  pistol-shot. 

At  the  same  moment  Joseph  emerged  from  behind  the 
tents,  dragging  some  one  by  the  collar.  The  victim  of 
Joseph's  violence  was  off  his  feet,  but  still  struggling  and 
kicking. 

Guy  Oscard  saw  the  flash  of  a  second  shot,  apparently  with- 
in a  few  inches  of  Joseph's  face ;  but  he  came  on,  dragging 
the  man  with  him,  whom  from  his  clothing  Oscard  saw  to 
be  Durnovo. 

Joseph  was  spitting  out  wadding  and  burnt  powder. 

"Shoot  me,  would  yer — yer  damned  skulking  chocolate- 
bird?  I'll  teach  you!  I'll  twist  that,  brown  neck  of 
yours," 


246  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

He  shook  him  as  a  terrier  shakes  a  rat,  and  seemed  to 
shake  things  off  him — among  others  a  revolver  which  de- 
scribed a  circle  in  the  air,  and  fell  heavily  on  the  ground, 
where  the  concussion  discharged  a  cartridge. 

"'Ere,  sir,"  cried  Joseph,  literally  throwing  Durnovo 
down  on  the  ground  at  Oscard's  feet,  "  that  man  has  just  shot 
one  o'  them  poor  niggers,  so  'elp  me  God !" 

Durnovo  rose  slowly  to  his  feet,  as  if  the  shaking  had  dis- 
turbed his  faculties. 

"  And  the  man  hadn't  done  'im  no  harm  at  all.  He's  got 
a  grudge  against  him.  I've  seen  that  this  last  week  and 
more.  It's  a  man  as  was  kinder  fond  o'  me,  and  we  under- 
stood each  other's  lingo.  That's  it— he  was  afraid  of  my 
'earing  things  that  mightn't  be  wholesome  for  me  to  know. 
The  man  hadn't  done  no  harm.  And  Durnovo  comes  up 
and  begins  abusing  'im,  and  then  he  strikes  'im,  and  he  out 
with  his  revolver  and  shoots  'im  down." 

Durnovo  gave  an  ugly  laugh.  He  had  readjusted  his 
disordered  dress  and  was  brushing  the  dirt  from  his 
knees. 

"  Oh,  don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself,"  he  said,  in  a  hiss- 
ino-  voice :  "  vou  don't  understand  these  natives  at  all. 
The  man  raised  his  hand  to  me.  He  would  have  killed 
me  if  he  had  had  the  chance.  Shooting  was  the  only  thing 
left  to  do.  You  can  only  hold  these  men  by  fear.  They 
expect,  it." 

"  Of  course  they  expect  it,"  shouted  Joseph  in  his  face ; 
"  of  course  they  expect  it,  Mr.  Durnovo." 

«  Why  ?" 

"Because  they're  slaves.     Think  I  don't  know  that?" 

He  turned  to  Oscard. 

"  This  man,  Mr.  Oscard,"  he  said,  "  is  a  slave-owner. 
Them  forty  that  joined  at  Msala  was  slaves.  He's  shot  two 
of  'em  now  :  this  is  his  second.  And  what  does  he  care? 
— they're  his  slaves.  Oh,  shame  on  yer !"  turning  again  to 
Durnovo ;  "  I  wonder  God  lets  yer  stand  there,     I  can  only 


• 


DARK    DEALIXO  247 

think  tbat  He  doesn't  want  to  dirty  His  hand  by  strikin'  yer 

own. 

Oscard  had  taken  his  pipe  from  his  lips.  He  looked 
bigger,  somehow,  than  ever.  His  brown  face  was  turning 
to  an  ashen  color,  and  there  was  a  dull,  steel-like  gleam  in 
his  blue  eyes.  The  terrible,  slow -kindling  anger  of  this 
Northerner  made  Durnovo  catch  his  breath.  It  was  so  dif- 
ferent from  the  sudden  passion  of  his  own  countrymen. 

"  Is  this  true  ?"  he  asked. 

"  It's  a  lie,  of  course,"  answered  Durnovo,  with  a  shrug  of 
the  shoulders.  He  moved  away  as  if  he  were  going  to  his 
tent,  but  Oscard's  arm  reached  out.  His  large  brown  hand 
fell  heavily  on  the  half-breed's  shoulder. 

"  Stay,"  he  said;  "  we  are  going  to  get  to  the  bottom  of 

this." 

"  Good,"  muttered  Joseph,  rubbing  his  hands  slowly  to- 
gether ;  "  this  is  prime." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Oscard  to  him. 

"  Where's  the  wages  you  and  Mr.  Meredith  has  paid  him 
for  those  forty  men?"  pursued  Joseph.  "Where's  the 
advance  you  made  him  for  those  men  at  Msala  ?  Not  one 
ha'penny  of  it  have  they  fingered.  And  why  ?  Cos  they're 
slaves!  Fifteen  months  at  fifty  pounds — let  them  as  can 
reckon  tot  it  up  for  theirselves.  That's  his  first  swindle — 
and  there's  others,  sir !  Ob,  there's  more  behind.  That 
man's  just  a  stinkin'  hot-bed  o'  crime.  But  this  'ere  slave- 
owning  is  enough  to  settle  his  hash,  I  take  it." 

"  Let  us  have  these  men  here — we  will  hear  what  they 
have  to  say,"  said  Oscard,  in  the  same  dull  tone  that  fright- 
ened Victor  Durnovo. 

"Not  you!"  he  went  on,  laying  his  hand  on  Durnovo's 
shoulder  again  ;  "  Joseph  will  fetch  them,  thank  you." 

So  the  forty — or  the  thirty-seven  survivors,  for  one  had 
died  on  the  journey  up  and  two  had  been  murdered — were 
brought.  They  were  peaceful,  timorous  men,  whose  man- 
hood seemed  to  have  been  crushed  out  of  them ;  and  slowly, 


248  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

word  by  word,  their  grim  story  was  got  out  of  them. 
Joseph  knew  a  little  of  their  language,  and  one  of  the  head 
fighting  men  knew  a  little  more,  and  spoke  a  dialect  known 
to  Oscard.  They  were  slaves,  they  said  at  once,  but  only 
on  Oscard's  promise  that  Durnovo  should  not  be  allowed  to 
shoot  them.  They  had  been  brought  from  the  north  by  a 
victorious  chief  who  in  turn  had  banded  them  over  to  Victor 
Durnovo  in  payment  of  an  outstanding  debt  for  ammuni- 
tion supplied. 

The  great  African  moon  rose  in  the  heavens  and  shone 
her  yeHow  light  upon  this  group  of  men.  Overhead  all  was 
peace ;  on  earth  there  was  no  peace.  And  yet  it  was  one 
of  Heaven's  laws  that  Victor  Durnovo  had  broken. 

Guy  Oscard  went  patiently  through  to  the  end  of  it.  He 
found  out  all  that  there  was  to  find ;  and  he  found  out  some- 
thing which  surprised  him.  No  one  seemed  to  be  honor- 
struck.  The  free  men  stood  stolidly  looking  on,  as  did  the 
slaves.  And  this  was  Africa — the  heart  of  Africa,  where, 
as  Victor  Durnovo  said,  no  one  knows  what  is  going  on. 
Oscard  knew  that  he  could  apply  no  law  to  Victor  Durnovo 
except  the  great  law  of  humanity.  There  was  nothing  to 
be  done ;  for  one  individual  may  not  execute  the  laws  of 
humanity.  All  were  assembled  before  him — the  whole 
of  the  great  Simiacine  Expedition  except  the  leader, 
whose  influence  lay  over  one  and  all  only  second  to  his 
presence. 

"  I  leave  this  place  at  sunrise  to-morrow,"  said  Guy  Os- 
card to  them  all.  "  I  never  want  to  see  it  again.  I  will 
not  touch  one  penny  of  the  money  that  has  been  made.  I 
speak  for  Mr.  Meredith  and  myself — " 

"  Likewise  me — damn  it !"  put  in  Joseph. 

"  I  speak  as  Mr.  Meredith  himself  would  have  spoken. 
There  is  the  Simiacine — you  can  have  it.  I  won't  touch  it. 
And  now  who  is  going  with  me-— who  leaves  with  me  to- 
morrow morning?" 

He  moved  away  from  Durnovo. 


AMONG    THORNS  249 

"And  who  stays  with  me?"  cried  the  half-breed,  "to 
share  and  share  alike  in  the  Simiacine?" 

Joseph  followed  Oscard,  and  with  him  a  certain  number 
of  the  blacks,  but  some  stayed.  Some  went  over  to  Dur- 
novo  and  stood  beside  him.  The  slaves  spoke  among  them- 
selves, and  then  they  all  went  over  to  Durnovo. 

So  that  which  the  placid  moon  shone  down  upon  was  the 
break-up  of  the  great  Simiacine  scheme.  Victor  Durnovo 
had  not  come  off  so  badly.  He  had  the  larger  half  of  the 
men  by  his  side.  He  had  all  the  finest  crop  the  trees  had 
yet  yielded — but  he  had  yet  to  reckon  with  high  Heaven. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

AMONG    THO  RNS 

"We  shut  our  hearts  up  nowadays, 
Like  some  old  music-box  that  plays 
Unfashionable  airs." 

Sir  John  Meredith  was  sitting  stiffly  in  a  straight-backed 
chair  by  his  library  fire.  In  his  young  days  men  didn't 
loll  in  deep  chairs,  with  their  knees  higher  than  their  heads. 
There  were  no  such  chairs  in  this  library,  just  as  there  was 
no  afternoon  tea  except  for  ladies.  Sir  John  Meredith  was 
distressed  to  observe  a  great  many  signs  of  the  degeneration 
of  manhood — which  he  attributed  to  the  indulgence  in  after- 
noon tea.  Sir  John  had  lately  noticed  another  degeneration, 
namely,  in  the  quality  of  the  London  gas.  So  serious  was 
this  falling  off  that  he  had  taken  to  a  lamp  in  the  evening, 
which  lamp  stood  on  the  table  at  his  elbow. 

Some  months  earlier — that  is  to  say,  about  six  months 
after  Jack's  departure — Sir  John  had  called  casually  upon 
an  optician.     He  stood  upright  by  the  counter,  and  frowned 


'250  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

down  on  a  mild-looking  man  who  wore  the  strongest  spec 
tacles  made,  as  if  in  advertisement  of  his  own  wares. 

"  They  tell  me,"  he  said,  "  that  you  opticians  make  glasses 
now  which  are  calculated  to  save  the  sight  in  old  age." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  optician,  with  wriggling  white 
fingers.  "  We  make  a  special  study  of  that.  We  endeavor 
to  save  the  sight — to  store  it  up,  as  it  were,  in — a  middle 
life,  for  use  in  old  age.     You  see,  sir,  the  pupil  of  the  eye — " 

Sir  John  held  up  a  warning  hand. 

"The  pupil  of  the  eye  is  your  business,  as  I  understand 
from  the  sign  above  your  shop — at  all  events,  it  is  not  mine," 
he  said.  "  Just  give  me  some  glasses  to  suit  my  sight,  and 
don't  worry  me  with  the  pupil  of  the  eye." 

He  turned  towards  the  door,  threw  back  his  shoulders, 
and  waited. 

"Spectacles,  sir?"  inquired  the  man,  meekly. 

"  Spectacles,  sir  ?"  cried  Sir  John.  "  No,  sir.  Spectacles 
be  damned.     I  want  a  pair  of  eye-glasses." 

And  these  eye-glasses  were  affixed  to  the  bridge  of  Sir 
John  Meredith's  nose,  as  he  sat  rather  stiffly  in  the  straight- 
backed  chair. 

He  was  reading  a  scientific  book  which  society  had  been 
pleased  to  read,  mark,  and  learn,  without  inwardly  digest- 
ing, as  is  the  way  of  society  with  books.  Sir  John  read  a 
good  deal — he  had  read  more  lately,  perhaps,  since  enter- 
tainments and  evening  parties  had  fallen  off  so  lamentably 
— and  he  made  a  point  of  keeping  up  with  the  mental 
progress  of  the  age. 

His  eyebrows  were  drawn  down,  as  if  the  process  of  stor- 
ing up  eyesight  for  his  old  age  was  somewhat  laborious. 
At  times  he  turned  and  glanced  over  his  shoulder  impatient- 
ly at  the  lamp. 

The  room  was  very  still  in  its  solid,  old-fashioned  luxury. 
Although  it  was  June,  a  small  wood-fire  burned  in  the  grate, 
and  the  hiss  of  a  piece  of  damp  bark  was  the  only  sound 
within  the  four  walls.     From  without,  through  the  thick 


AMONG    THORNS  251 

curtains,  came  at  intervals  the  rumble  of  distant  wheels. 
But  it  was  just  between  times,  and  the  fashionable  world 
was  at  its  dinner.  Sir  John  had  finished  his,  not  because 
he  dined  earlier  than  the  rest  of  the  world — he  could  not 
have  done  that — but  because  a  man  dining  by  himself,  with 
a  butler  and  a  footman  to  wait  upon  him,  does  not  take 
very  long  over  his  meals. 

He  was  in  full  evening  dress,  of  course,  built  up  by  his 
tailor,  bewigged,  perfumed,  and  cunningly  aided  by  toilet- 
table  deceptions. 

At  times  his  weary  old  eyes  wandered  from  the  printed 
page  to  the  smouldering  fire,  where  a  whole  volume  seemed 
to  be  written — it  took  so  long  to  read.  Then  he  would 
pull  himself  together,  glance  at  the  lamp,  readjust  the  eye- 
glasses, and  plunge  resolutely  into  the  book.  He  did  not 
always  read  scientific  books.  He  had  a  taste  for  travel  and 
adventure — the  Arctic  regions,  Asia,  Siberia,  and  Africa — 
but  Africa  was  all  locked  away  in  a  lower  drawer  of  the 
writing-table.  He  did  not  care  for  the  servants  to  meddle 
with  his  books,  he  told  himself.  He  did  not  tell  anybody 
that  he  did  not  care  to  let  the  servants  see  him  reading  his 
books  of  travel  in  Africa. 

There  was  nothing  dismal  or  lonely  about  this  old  man, 
sitting  in  evening  dress  in  a  high-backed  chair,  stiffly  read- 
ing a  scientific  book  of  the  modern,  cheap  science  tenor — 
not  written  for  scientists,  but  to  step  in  when  the  brain  is 
wearv  of  novels  and  afraid  of  communing  with  itself.  Oh 
no !  A  gentleman  need  never  be  dull.  He  has  his  neces- 
sary occupations.  If  he  is  a  man  of  intellect  he  need  nev- 
er be  idle.     It  is  an  occupation  to  keep  up  with  the  times. 

Sometimes  after  dinner,  while  drinking  his  perfectly- 
made  black  coffee,  Sir  John  would  idly  turn  over  the  invi- 
tation cards  on  the  mantel-piece — the  carriage  was  always  in 
readiness — but  of  late  the  invitations  had  not  proved  very 
tempting.  There  was  no  doubt  that  society  was  not  what 
it  used  to  be.    The  summer  was  not  what  it  used  to  be, 


252  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

either.  The  evenings  were  so  confoundedly  cold.  So  he 
often  stayed  at  home  and  read  a  book. 

He  paused  in  the  midst  of  a  scientific  definition,  and 
looked  up  with  listening  eyes.  He  had  got  into  the  way 
of  listening  to  the  passing  wheels.  Lady  Cantourne  some- 
times called  for  him  on  her  way  to  a  festivity,  but  it  was 
not  that. 

The  wheels  he  heard  had  stopped — perhaps  it  was  Lady 
Cantourne.  But  he  did  not  think  so.  She  drove  behind  a 
pair,  and  this  was  not  a  pair.  It  was  wonderful  how  well  he 
could  detect  the  difference,  considering  the  age  of  his  ears. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  butler  silently  threw  open  the 
door,  and  Jack  stood  in  the  threshold.  Sir  John  Meredith's 
son  had  been  given  back  to  him  from  the  gates  of  death. 

The  son,  like  the  father,  was  in  immaculate  evening  dress. 
There  was  a  very  subtle  cynicism  in  the  thought  of  turning 
aside  on  such  a  return  as  this  to  dress — to  tie  a  careful 
white  tie  and  brush  inperceptibly  ruffled  hair. 

There  was  a  little  pause,  and  the  two  tall  men  stood, 
half-bowing  with  a  marvellous  similarity  of  attitude,  gazing 
steadily  into  each  other's  eyes.  And  one  cannot  help  won- 
dering whether  it  was  a  mere  accident  that  Jack  Meredith 
stood  motionless  on  the  threshold  until  his  father  said, 

"  Come  in." 

"  Thomson,"  he  continued  to  the  butler,  with  that  pride 
of  keeping  up  before  all  the  world  which  was  his,  "  bring 
up  coffee.  You  will  take  coffee?"  to  his  son  while  they 
shook  hands. 

"  Thanks,  yes." 

The  butler  closed  the  door  behind  him.  Sir  John  was 
holding  on  to  the  back  of  his  high  chair  in  rather  a  con- 
strained way — almost  as  if  he  were  suffering  pain.  They 
looked  at  each  other  again,  and  there  was  a  resemblance  in 
the  very  manner  of  raising  the  eyelid.  There  was  a  strong- 
er resemblance  in  the  grim,  waiting  silence  which  neither 
of  them  would  break, 


AMONG    THORNS  253 

At  last  Jack  spoke,  approaching  the  fire  and  looking 
into  it. 

"  You  must  excuse  ray  taking  you  by  surprise  at  this — 
unusual  hour."  He  turned  ;  saw  the  lamp,  the  book,  and  the 
eye-glasses — more  especially  the  eye-glasses,  which  seemed 
to  break  the  train  of  his  thoughts.  "  I  only  landed  at 
Liverpool  this  afternoon,"  he  went  on,  with  hopeless  polite- 
ness. "  I  did  not  trouble  you  with  a  telegram,  knowing 
that  you  object  to  them." 

The  old  man  bowed  gravely. 

"  I  am  always  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said,  suavely.  "Will 
you  not  sit  down  ?" 

And  they  had  begun  wrong.  It  is  probable  that  neither 
of  them  had  intended  this.  Both  had  probably  dreamed 
of  a  very  different  meeting.  But  both  alike  had  counted 
without  that  stubborn  pride  which  will  rise  up  at  the  wrong 
time  and  in  the  wrong  place — the  pride  which  Jack  Mere- 
dith had  inherited  by  blood  and  teaching  from  his  father. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  dined,"  said  Sir  John,  when  they 
were  seated,  "  or  may  I  offer  you  something?" 

"Thanks,  I  dined  on  the  way  up — in  atwilit  refreshment- 
room,  with  one  waiter  and  a  number  of  attendant  black- 
beetles." 

Things  were  going  worse  and  worse. 

Sir  John  smiled,  and  he  was  still  smiling  when  the  man 
brought  in  coffee. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  conversationally,  "  for  speed  combined 
with  discomfort  I  suppose  we  can  hold  up  heads  against 
any  country.  Seeing  that  you  are  dressed,  I  supposed  that 
you  had  dined  in  town." 

"  No.  I  drove  straight  to  my  rooms,  and  kept  the  cab 
while  I  dressed." 

What  an  important  matter  this  dressing  seemed  to  be ! 
And  there  were  fifteen  months  behind  it — fifteen  months 
which  had  a^ed  one  of  them  and  sobered  the  other. 

Jack  was  sitting  forward  in  his  chair  with  his  immaculate 


254  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

dress-shoes  on  the  fender— his  knees  apart,  his  elbows  rest- 
ing on  them,  his  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  fire.  Sir  John 
looked  keenly  at  him  beneath  his  frowning,  lashless  lids, 
lie  saw  the  few  gray  hairs  over  Jack's  ears,  the  suggested 
wrinkles,  the  drawn  lines  about  his  mouth. 
;'     "  You  have  been  ill  ?"  he  said. 

Joseph's  letter  was  locked  away  in  the  top  drawer  of  his 
writing-table. 

"  Yes,  I  had  rather  a  bad  time  —  a  serious  illness.  My 
man  nursed  me  through  it,  however,  with  marked  success ;  and 
— the  Gordons,  with  whom  I  was  staying,  were  very  kind." 

"  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Miss  Gordon." 

Jack's  face  was  steady — suavely  impenetrable. 

Sir  John  moved  a  little,  and  set  his  empty  cup  upon  the 
table. 

"  A  charming  girl,"  he  added. 

"  Yes." 

There  was  a  little  pause. 

"  You  are  fortunate  in  that  man  of  yours,"  Sir  John  said. 
"  A  first-class  man." 

"  Yes — he  saved  my  life." 

Sir  John  blinked,  and  for  the  first  time  his  fingers  went 
to  his  mouth,  as  if  his  lips  had  suddenly  got  beyond  his 
control. 

"If  I  may  suggest  it,"  he  said,  rather  indistinctly,  "I 
think  it  would  be  well  if  we  signified  our  appreciation  of 
his  devotion  in  some  substantial  way.  We  might  well  do 
something  between  us." 

He  paused  and  threw  back  his  shoulders. 

"  I  should  like  to  give  him  some  substantial  token  of  my 
— gratitude." 

Sir  John  was  nothing  if  not  just. 

"  Thank  you,"  answered  Jack,  quietly.  He  turned  his 
head  a  little,  and  glanced,  not  at  his  father,  but  in  his  direc- 
tion.    "  He  will  appreciate  it,  I  know." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  him  to-morrow." 


AMONG    THORNS  255 

Jack  winced,  as  if  he  had  made  a  mistake. 

"  He  is  not  in  England,"  he  explained.  "  I  left  him  be- 
hind me  in  Africa.  He  has  gone  back  to  the  Simiacine 
Plateau." 

The  old  man's  face  dropped  rather  piteously. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  with  one  of  the  sudden  relapses 
into  old  age  that  Lady  Cantourne  dreaded.  "I  may  not 
have  a  chance  of  seeing  him  to  thank  him  personally.  A 
good  servant  is  so  rare  nowadays.  These  modern  democrats 
seem  to  think  that  it  is  a  nobler  thing  to  be  a  bad  servant 
than  a  good  one.     As  if  we  were  not  all  servants !" 

He  was  thirsting  for  details.  There  were  a  thousand 
questions  in  his  heart,  but  not  one  on  his  lips. 

"  Will  you  have  the  kindness  to  remember  my  desire," 
he  went  on,  suavely,  "when  you  are  settling  up  with  your 
man? 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Jack,  "  I  am  much  obliged  to 
you." 

"  And  in  the  meantime,  as  you  are  without  a  servant, 
you  may  as  well  make  use  of  mine.  One  of  my  men — 
Henry  —  who  is  too  stupid  to  get  into  mischief  —  a  great 
recommendation  by-the-way — understands  his  business.  I 
will  ring  and  have  him  sent  over  to  your  rooms  at  once." 

He  did  so,  and  they  sat  in  silence  until  the  butler  had 
come  and  gone. 

"  We  have  been  very  successful  with  the  Simiacine — our 
scheme,"  said  Jack,  suddenly. 

"  Ah  !" 

"  I  have  brought  home  a  consignment  valued  at  seventy 
thousand  pounds." 
i     Sir  John's  face  never  changed. 

"  And,"  he  asked,  with  veiled  sarcasm,  "  do  you  carry  out 
the — er — commercial  part  of  the  scheme  ?" 

"  I  shall  begin  to  arrange  for  the  sale  of  the  consignment 
to-morrow.  I  shall  have  no  difficulty — at  least,  I  anticipate 
none.    Yes,  I  do  the  commercial  part — as  well  as  the  other. 


256  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

I  held  the  Plateau  against  two  thousand  natives  for  three 
months,  with  fifty-five  men.  But  I  do  the  commercial  part 
as  well." 

As  he  was  looking  into  the  fire  still,  Sir  John  stole  a  long 
comprehensive  glance  at  his  son's  face.  His  old  eyes  lighted 
up  with  pride  and  something  else  —  possibly  love.  The 
clock  on  the  mantel-piece  struck  eleven.  Jack  looked  at  it 
thoughtfully,  then  he  rose. 

"  I  must  not  keep  you  any  longer,"  he  said,  somewhat 
stiffly. 

Sir  John  rose  also. 

"  I  dare  say  you  are  tired ;  you  need  rest.  In  some  ways 
you  look  stronger,  in  others  you  look  fagged  and  pulled 
down." 

"  It  is  the  result  of  my  illness,"  said  Jack.  "  I  am  really 
quite  strong." 

He  paused,  standing  on  the  hearth-rug,  then  suddenly  he 
held  out  his  hand. 

"  Good-night,"  be  said. 

"  Good-night." 

Sir  John  allowed  him  to  go  to  the  door,  to  touch  the 
handle,  before  he  spoke. 

"  Then — "  he  said,  and  Jack  paused.  "  Then  we  are  no 
further  on  ?" 

"  In  what  way  ?" 

"In  respect  to  the  matter  over  which  we  unfortunately 
disagreed  before  you  went  away?" 

Jack  turned,  with  his  hand  on  the  door. 

"  I  have  not  changed  my  mind  in  any  respect,"  he 
said,  gently.  "  Perhaps  you  are  inclined  to  take  my  al- 
tered circumstances  into  consideration  —  to  modify  your 
views." 

"  I  am  getting  rather  old  for  modification,"  answered  Sir 
John,  suavely. 

"  And  you  see  no  reason  for  altering  your  decision  f ' 

"None." 


ENGAGED  257 

"  Then   I  am  afraid  we  are  no  further  on,"  he  paused. 
"  Good-night,"  he  added,  gently,  as  he  opened  the  door. 
"Good-night." 


CHAPTER  XXXV 
ENGAGED 

"Well,  there's  the  game.     I  throw  the  stakes." 

Lady  Cantourne  was  sitting  alone  in  her  drawing-room, 
and  the  expression  of  her  usually  bright  and  smiling  face 
betokened  considerable  perturbation. 

Truth  to  tell,  there  were  not  many  things  in  life  that  had 
power  to  frighten  her  ladyship  very  much.  Hers  bad  been 
a  prosperous  life  as  prosperity  is  reckoned.  She  had  mar- 
ried a  rich  man  who  had  retained  his  riches  while  he  lived 
and  had  left  them  to  her  when  he  died.  And  that  was  all 
the  world  knew  of  Lady  Cantourne.  Like  the  majority  of 
us,  she  presented  her  character  and  not  herself  to  her  neigh- 
bors ;  and  these  held,  as  neighbors  do,  that  the  cheery, 
capable  little  woman  of  the  world  whom  they  met  every- 
where was  Lady  Cantourne.  Circumstances  alter  us  less 
than  we  think.  If  we  are  of  a  gay  temperament — gay  we 
shall  be  through  all.  If  sombre,  no  happiness  can  drive 
that  sombreness  away.  Lady  Cantourne  was  meant  for 
happiness  and  a  joyous  motherhood.  She  had  had  neither ; 
but  she  went  on  being  "meant"  until  the  end — that  is  to 
say,  she  was  still  cheery  and  capable.  She  had  thrown  an 
open  letter  on  the  little  table  at  her  side — a  letter  from 
Jack  Meredith  announcing  his  return  to  England,  and  his 
natural  desire  to  call  and  pay  his  respects  in  the  course  of 
the  afternoon. 

"  So,"  she  had  said  before  she  laid  the  letter  aside,  "  he 
is  home  again — and  he  means  to  carry  it  through  ?" 


258  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Then  she  had  settled  down  to  think  in  her  own  comfort- 
able chair  (for  if  one  may  not  be  happy,  comfort  is  at  all 
events  within  reach  of  some  of  us),  and  the  troubled  look 
had  supervened. 

Each  of  our  lives  is  like  a  book  with  one  strong  character 
moving  through  its  pages.  The  strong  character  in  Lady 
Cantourne's  book  had  been  Sir  John  Meredith.  Her  whole 
life  seemed  to  have  been  spent  on  the  outskirts  of  his — 
watching  it.  And  what  she  had  seen  had  not  been  con- 
ducive to  her  own  happiness. 

She  knew  that  the  note  she  had  just  received  meant  a 
great  deal  to  Sir  John  Meredith.  It  meant  that  Jack  had 
come  home  with  the  full  intention  of  fulfilling  his  engage- 
ment to  Millicent  Chyne.  At  first  she  had  rather  resented 
Sir  John's  outspoken  objection  to  her  niece  as  his  son's  wife, 
but  during  the  last  months  she  had  gradually  come  round 
to  his  way  of  thinking ;  not,  perhaps,  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life.  She  had  watched  Millicent.  She  had  studied  her 
own  niece  dispassionately,  as  much  from  Sir  John  Mere- 
dith's point  of  view  as  was  possible  under  the  circumstances. 
And  she  had  made  several  discoveries.  The  first  of  these 
had  been  precisely  that  discovery  which  one  would  expect 
from  a  woman — namely,  the  state  of  Millicent's  own  feel- 
ings. 

Lady  Cantourne  had  known  for  the  last  twelve  months — 
almost  as  long  as  Sir  John  Meredith  had  known — that  Mil- 
licent loved  Jack.  Upon  this  knowledge  came  the  humilia- 
tion— the  degradation — of  one  flirtation  after  another ;  and 
not  even  after,  but  interlaced.  Guy  Oscard  in  particular, 
and  others  in  a  minor  degree  had  passed  that  way.  It  was 
a  shameless  record  of  that  which  might  have  been  good  in 
a  man  prostituted  and  trampled  under  foot  by  the  vanity 
of  a  woman.  .Lady  Cantourne  was  of  the  world  worldly ; 
and  because  of  that,  because  the  finest  material  has  a  seamy 
side,  and  the  highest  walks  in  life  have  the  hardiest  weeds, 
she  knew  what  love  should  be.     Here  was  a  love — it  mav 


ENGAGED  259 

be  modern,  advanced,  chic,  fin-dc-siccle,  up  to  date,  or  any- 
thing the  coming  generation  may  choose  to  call  it — but  it 
was  eminently  cheap  and  ephemeral  because  it  could  not 
make  a  little  sacrifice  of  vanity.  For  the  sake  of  the  man 
she  loved — mark  that ! — not  only  the  man  to  whom  she  was 
engaged,  but  whom  she  loved — Millicent  Chyne  could  not 
forbear  pandering  to  her  own  vanity  by  the  sacrifice  of  her 
own  modesty  and  purity  of  thought.  There  was  the  sting 
for  Lady  Cantourne. 

She  was  tolerant  and  eminently  wise,  this  old  lady  who 
had  made  one  huge  mistake  long  ago,  and  she  knew  that 
the  danger,  the  harm,  the  low  vulgarity  lay  in  the  little  fact 
that  Millicent  Chyne  loved  Jack  Meredith  according  to  her 
lights. 

While  she  still  sat  there  the  bell  rang,  and  quite  suddenly 
she  chased  away  the  troubled  look  from  her  eyes,  leaving 
there  the  keen,  kindly  gaze  to  which  the  world  of  London 
society  was  well  accustomed.  When  Jack  Meredith  came 
into  the  room  she  rose  to  greet  him  with  a  smile  of  wel- 
come. 

"  Before  I  shake  hands,"  she  said,  "  tell  me  if  you  have 
been  to  see  your  father." 

"I  went  last  night —  almost  straight  from  the  station. 
The  first  person  I  spoke  to  in  London,  except  a  cabman." 

So  she  shook  hands. 

"  You  know,"  she  said,  without  looking  at  him — indeed, 
carefully  avoiding  doing  so — "  life  is  too  short  to  quarrel 
with  one's  father.  At  least,  it  may  prove  too  short  to  make 
it  up  again — that  is  the  danger." 

She  sat  down  with  a  graceful  swing  of  her  silken  skirt 
which  was  habitual  with  her — the  remnant  of  a  past  day. 

Jack  Meredith  winced.  He  had  seen  a  difference  in  his 
father,  and  Lady  Cantourne  was  corroborating  it. 

"  The  quarrel  was  not  mine,"  he  said.  "  I  admit  that  1 
ought  to  have  known  him  better.  I  ought  to  have  spoket 
to  him  before  asking  Millicent.     It  was  a  mistake." 


260  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Lady  Cantoume  looked  up  suddenly. 

"  What  was  a  mistake  ?" 

"  Not  asking  his — opinion  first." 

She  turned  to  the  table  where  his  letter  lay,  and  fingered 
the  paper  pensively. 

"  I  thought,  perhaps,  that  you  had  found  that  the  other 
was  a  mistake — the  engagement." 

"  No,"  he  answered. 

Lady  Cantourne's  face  betrayed  nothing.  There  was  no 
sigh,  of  relief  or  disappointment.  She  merely  looked  at 
the  clock. 

"Millicent  will  be  in  presently," she  said;  "she  is  out 
riding." 

She  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  add  that  her  niece  was 
riding  with  a  very  youthful  officer  in  the  Guards.  Lady 
Cantourne  never  made  mischief  from  a  sense  of  duty,  or 
any  mistaken  motive  of  that  sort.  Some  people  argue  that 
there  is  very  little  that  is  worth  keeping  secret ;  to  which 
one  may  reply  that  there  is  still  less  worth  disclosing. 

They  talked  of  other  things — of  his  life  in  Africa,  of  his 
success  with  the  Simiacine,  of  which  discovery  the  news- 
papers were  not  yet  weary — until  the  bell  was  heard  in  the 
basement,  and  thereafter  Millicent's  voice  in  the  hall. 

Lady  Cantourne  rose  deliberately  and  went  down-stairs 
to  tell  her  niece  that  he  was  in  the  drawing-room,  leaving 
him  there,  waiting,  alone. 

Presently  the  door  opened  and  Millicent  hurried  in.  She 
threw  her  gloves  and  whip — anywhere — on  the  floor,  and 
ran  to  him. 

"  Oh,  Jack  !"  she  cried. 

It  was  very  prettily  done.  In  its  way  it  was  a  poem.  But 
while  his  arms  were  still  round  her  she  looked  towards  the 
window,  wondering  whether  he  had  seen  her  ride  up  to  the 
door  accompanied  by  the  very  youthful  officer  in  the 
Guards. 

"  And,  Jack — do  you  know,"  she  went  on,  "  all  the  news- 


ENGAGED  261 

papers  have  been  full  of  you.  You  are  quite  a  celebrity. 
And  are  you  really  as  rich  as  they  say  ?" 

Jack  Meredith  was  conscious  of  a  very  slight  check — it 
was  not  exactly  a  jar.  His  feeling  was  rather  that  of  a 
man  who  thinks  that  he  is  swimming  in  deep  water,  and 
finds  suddenly  that  he  can  touch  the  bottom. 

"  I  think  I  can  safely  say  that  I  am  not,"  he  answered. 

And  it  was  from  that  eminently  practical  point  that  they 
departed  into  the  future — arranging  that  same,  and  filling 
up  its  blanks  with  all  the  wisdom  of  lovers  and  the  rest  of  us. 

Lady  Cantourne  left  them  there  for  nearly  an  hour,  in 
which  space  of  time  she  probably  reflected  they  could  build 
up  as  rosy  a  future  as  was  good  for  them  to  contemplate. 
Then  she  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  followed  by  a  fnll- 
sized  footman  bearing  tea. 

She  was  too  discreet  a  woman — too  deeply  versed  in  the 
sudden  changes  of  the  human  mind  and  heart — to  say  any- 
thing until  one  of  them  should  give  her  a  distinct  lead. 
They  were  not  shy  and  awkward  children.  Perhaps  she 
reflected  that  the  generation  to  which  they  belonged  is  not 
one  heavily  handicapped  by  too  subtle  a  delicacy  of  feeling. 

Jack  Meredith  gave  her  the  lead  before  long. 

"Millicent,"  he  said,  without  a  vestige  of  embarrassment, 
"has  consented  to  be  openly  engaged  now." 

Lady  Cantourne  nodded  comprehensively. 

"  I  think  she  is  very  wise,"  she  said. 

There  was  a  little  pause. 

"  I  know  she  is  very  wise,"  she  added,  turning  and  laying 
her  hand  on  Jack's  arm.  The  two  phrases  had  quite  a  dif- 
ferent meaning.     "  She  will  have  a  good  husband." 

"So  you  can  tell  everybody  now,"  chimed  in  Millicent  in 
her  silvery  way.  She  was  blushing  and  looking  very  pretty 
with  her  hair  blown  about  her  ears  by  her  last  canter  with 
the  youthful  officer,  who  was  at  that  momeut  riding  pen- 
sively home  with  a  bunch  of  violets  in  his  coat  which  had 
not  been  there  when  he  started  from  the  stable. 


262  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

She  had  found  out  casually  from  Jack  that  Guy  Oscard 
was  exiled  vaguely  to  the  middle  of  Africa  for  an  indefinite 
period.  The  rest — the  youthful  officer  and  the  others — did 
not  give  her  much  anxiety.  They,  she  argued  to  herself, 
had  nothing  to  bring  against  her.  They  may  have  thought 
things — but  who  can  prevent  people  from  thinking  things  ? 
Besides,  "  I  thought  "  is  always  a  poor  position. 

There  were,  it  was  true,  a  good  many  men  whom  she 
would  rather  not  tell  herself.  But  this  difficulty  was  obvi- 
ated by  requesting  Lady  Cantourne  to  tell  everybody.  Ev- 
erybody would  tell  everybody  else,  and  would,  of  course, 
ask  if  these  particular  persons  in  question  had  been  told ;  if 
not,  they  would  have  to  be  told  at  once.  Indeed,  there 
would  be  quite  a  competition  to  relieve  Millicent  of  her  lit- 
tle difficulty.  Besides,  she  could  not  marry  more  than  one 
person.  Besides — besides — besides — the  last  word  of  Mil- 
licent and  her  kind. 

Lady  Cantourne  was  not  very  communicative  during  that 
refined  little  tea  a  trois,  but  she  listened  smilingly  to  Jack's 
optimistic  views  and  Millicent's  somewhat  valueless  com- 
ments. 

"  I  am  certain,"  said  Millicent,  at  length  boldly  attacking 
the  question  that  was  in  all  their  minds,  "  that  Sir  John  will 
be  all  right  now.  Of  course,  it  is  only  natural  that  he 
should  not  like  Jack  to — to  get  engaged  yet.  Especially 
before,  when  it  would  have  made  a  difference  to  him — in 
money  I  mean.  But  now  that  Jack  is  independent — you 
know,  auntie,  that  Jack  is  richer  than  Sir  John — is  it  not 
nice  ?" 

"  Very,"  answered  Lady  Cantourne,  in  a  voice  rather  sug- 
gestive of  humoring  a  child's  admiration  of  a  new  toy; 
"  very  nice  indeed." 

"  And  all  so  quickly  1"  pursued  Millicent.  "  Only  a 
few  months  —  not  two  years,  you  know.  Of  course,  at 
first  the  time  went  horribly  slowly ;  but  afterwards,  when 
one   got   accustomed  to   it,  life   became   tolerable.     You 


ENGAGED  263 

did   not   expect   me  to  sit   and  mope   all    day,  did  you, 
Jack  ?" 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  replied  Jack ;  and  quite  suddenly, 
as  in  a  flash,  he  saw  his  former  self,  and  wondered  vaguely 
whether  he  would  get  back  to  that  self. 

Lady  Cantourne  was  rather  thoughtful  at  that  moment. 
She  could  not  help  coming  back  and  back  to  Sir  John. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said  to  Jack,  "  we  must  let  your  father 
know  at  once.  The  news  must  not  reach  him  from  an  out- 
side sourcv. 

Jack  nodded. 

"  If  it  did,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not  think  the  'outside  source' 
would  get  much  satisfaction  out  of  him." 

"  Probably  not ;  but  I  was  not  thinking  of  the  '  outside 
source'  or  the  outside  effect.  I  was  thinking  of  his  feel- 
ings," replied  Lady  Cantourne,  rather  sharply.  She  had 
lately  fallen  into  the  habit  of  not  sparing  Millicent  very 
much;  and  that  young  lady,  bright  and  sweet  and  good- 
natured,  had  not  failed  to  notice  it.  Indeed,  she  had  spoken 
of  it  to  several  people  —  to  partners  at  dances  and  others. 
She  attributed  it  to  approaching  old  age. 

"  I  will  write  and  tell  him,"  said  Jack,  quietly. 

Lady  Cantourne  raised  her  eyebrows  slightly,  but  made 
no  spoken  comment. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  after  a  little  pause,  "  that  Millicent 
ought  to  write,  too." 

Millicent  shuddered  prettily.  She  was  dimly  conscious 
that  ber  handwriting — of  an  exaggerated  size,  executed  with 
a  special  broad-pointed  pen  purchasable  in  only  one  shop  in 
Regent  Street — was  not  quite  likely  to  meet  with  his  ap- 
proval. A  letter  written  thus — two  words  to  a  line — on 
note-paper  that  would  have  been  vulgar  had  it  not  been  so 
very  novel,  was  sure  to  incur  prejudice  before  it  was  fully 
unfolded  by  a  stuffy,  old-fashioned  person. 

"I  will  try,"  she  said;  "but  you  know,  auntie  dear,  I 
cannot  write  a  long  explanatory  letter.     There  never  seems 


264  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

to  be  time,  does  there?  Besides,  I  am  afraid  Sir  John  dis- 
approves of  me.  I  don't  know  why;  I'm  sure  I  have  tried" 
— which  was  perfectly  true. 

Even  funerals  and  lovers  must  bow  to  meal-times,  and 
Jack  Meredith  was  not  the  man  to  outstay  his  welcome. 
He  saw  Lady  Cantourne  glance  at  the  clock.  Clever 
as  she  was,  she  could  not  do  it  without  being  seen  by 
him. 

So  he  took  his  leave,  and  Millicent  went  to  the  head  of 
the  stairs  with  him. 

He  refused  the  pressing  invitation  of  a  hansom-cabman, 
and  proceeded  to  walk  leisurely  home  to  his  rooms.  Per- 
haps he  was  wondering  why  his  heart  was  not  brimming 
over  with  joy.  The  human  heart  has  a  singular  way  of  see- 
ing further  than  its  astute  friend  and  coadjutor,  the  brain. 
It  sometimes  refuses  to  be  filled  with  glee  when  outward 
circumstances  most  distinctly  demand  that  state.  And  at 
other  times,  when  outward  things  are  strong,  not  to  say 
opaque,  the  heart  is  joyful,  and  we  know  not  why. 

Jack  Meredith  knew  that  he  was  the  luckiest  man  in  Lon- 
don. He  was  rich,  in  good  health,  and  he  was  engaged  to 
be  married  to  Millicent  Chyne,  the  acknowledged  belle  of 
his  circle.  She  had  in  no  way  changed.  She  was  just  as 
pretty,  as  fascinating,  as  gay  as  ever;  and  something  told 
him  that  she  loved  him — something  which  had  not  been 
there  before  he  went  away,  something  that  had  come  when 
the  overweening  vanity  of  youth  went.  And  it  was  just 
this  knowledge  to  which  he  clung  with  a  nervous  mental 
grip.  He  did  not  feel  elated  as  he  should ;  he  was  aware 
of  that,  and  he  could  not  account  for  it.  But  Millicent 
loved  him,  so  it  must  be  all  right.  He  had  always  cared 
for  Millicent.  Everything  had  been  done  in  order  that  he 
might  marry  her — the  quarrel  with  his  father,  the  finding 
of  the  Simiacine,  the  determination  to  get  well  which  had 
saved  his  life — all  this  so  that  he  might  marry  Millicent. 
And  now  he  was  going  to  marry  her,  and  it  must  be  all 


NO    COMPROMISE  265 

right.  Perhaps,  as  men  get  older,  the  effervescent  elation 
of  youth  leaves  them ;  but  they  are  none  the  less  happy. 
That  must  be  it. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

NO     COMPROMISE 

"Where  he  fixed  his  heart  he  set  his  hand 
To  do  the  thing  he  willed." 

"My  dear  Sir  John, — It  is  useless  my  pretending  to  ignore  your 
views  respecting  Jack's  marriage  to  Millicent;  and  I  therefore  take 
up  my  pen  with  regret  to  inform  you  that  the  two  young  people  have 
now  decided  to  make  public  their  engagement.  Moreover,  I  imagine 
it  is  their  intention  to  get  married  very  soon.  You  and  I  have  been 
friends  through  a  longer  spell  of  years  than  many  lives  and  most 
friendships  extend,  and  at  the  risk  of  being  considered  inconsequent  I 
must  pause  to  thank  you — well — to  thank  you  for  having  been  so  true 
a  friend  to  me  all  through  my  life.  If  that  life  were  given  to  me  to 
begin  again,  I  should  like  to  retrace  the  years  back  to  a  point  when — 
little  more  than  a  child — I  yielded  to  influence  and  made  a  great  mis- 
take. I  should  like  to  begin  my  life  over  again  from  there.  When  you 
first  signified  your  disapproval  of  Millicent  as  a  wife  for  Jack,  I  con- 
fess I  was  a  little  nettled;  but  on  the  strength  of  the  friendship  to 
which  I  have  referred  I  must  ask  you  to  believe  that  never  from  the 
moment  that  I  learned  your  opinion  have  I  by  thought  or  action  gone 
counter  to  it.  This  marriage  is  none  of  my  doing.  Jack  is  too  good 
for  her — I  see  that  now.  You  are  wiser  than  I — you  always  have 
been.  If  any  word  of  mine  can  alleviate  your  distress  at  this  unwel- 
come event,  let  it  be  that  I  am  certain  that  Millicent  has  the  right  feel- 
ing for  your  boy ;  and  from  this  knowledge  I  cannot  but  gather  great 
hopes.  All  may  yet  come  to  your  satisfaction.  Millicent  is  young,  and 
perhaps  a  little  volatile,  but  Jack  inherits  your  strength  of  character  ; 
he  may  mould  her  to  better  things  than  either  you  or  I  dream  of.  I 
hope  sincerely  that  it  may  be  so.  If  I  have  appeared  passive  in  this 
matter  it  is  not  because  I  have  been  indifferent ;  but  I  know  that  my 
yea  or  nay  could  carry  no  weight. 

"  Your  old  friend, 

"  Caroline  Cantourne." 


266  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

This  letter  reached  Sir  John  Meredith  while  he  was  wait- 
ing for  the  announcement  that  dinner  was  ready.  The  an- 
nouncement arrived  immediately  afterwards,  but  ho  did  not 
go  down  to  dinner  until  he  had  read  the  letter.  He  fumbled 
for  his  newly-purchased  eye-glasses,  because  Lady  Can- 
tourne's  handwriting  was  somewhat  thin  and  spidery,  as  be- 
hooved a  lady  of  standing;  also  the  gas  was  so  damned  bad. 
He  used  this  expression  somewhat  freely,  and  usually  put  a 
"  Sir  "  after  it  as  his  father  had  done  before  him. 

His  eyes  grew  rather  fierce  as  he  read  ;  then  they  sudden- 
ly softened,  and  he  threw  back  his  shoulders  as  he  had  done 
a  thousand  times  on  the  threshold  of  Lady  Cantourne's 
drawing-room.  He  read  the  whole  letter  very  carefully  and 
gravely,  as  if  all  that  the  writer  had  to  say  was  worthy  of 
his  most  respectful  attention.  Then  he  folded  the  paper 
and  placed  it  in  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat.  He  looked  a 
little  bowed  and  strangely  old  as  he  stood  for  a  moment  on 
the  hearth-rug  thinking.  It  was  his  practice  to  stand  thus 
on  the  hearth-rug  from  the  time  that  he  entered  the  drawing- 
room,  dressed,  until  the  announcement  of  dinner;  and  the 
cook  far  below  in  the  basement  was  conscious  of  the  atti- 
tude of  the  master  as  the  pointer  of  the  clock  approached 
the  hour. 

Of  late  Sir  John  had  felt  a  singular  desire  to  sit  down 
whenever  opportunity  should  offer;  but  he  had  always  been 
found  standing  on  the  hearth-rug  by  the  butler,  and,  hard  old 
aristocrat  that  he  was,  he  would  not  yield  to  the  somewhat 
angular  blandishments  of  the  stiff-backed  chair. 

He  stood  for  a  few  moments  with  his  back  to  the 
smouldering  fire,  and,  being  quite  alone,  he  perhaps  forgot 
to  stiffen  his  neck;  for  his  head  drooped,  his  lips  were  un- 
steady.    He  was  a  very  old  man. 

A  few  minutes  later,  when  he  strode  into  the  dining- 
room  where  butler  and  footman  awaited  him,  he  was  erect, 
imperturbable,  impenetrable. 

At  dinner  it  was  evident  that  his  keen  brain  was  hard  at 


NO    COMPROMISE  267 

work.  He  forgot  one  or  two  of  the  formalities  which  were 
religiously  observed  at  that  solitary  table.  He  hastened 
over  his  wine,  and  then  he  went  to  the  library.  There  he 
wrote  a  telegram,  slowly,  in  his  firm,  ornamental  hand- 
writing. 

It  was  addressed  to  "  Gordon,  Loango,"  and  the  gist  of 
it  was — "  Wire  whereabouts  of  Oscard — when  he  may  be 
expected  home." 

The  footman  was  despatched  in  a  hansom-cab,  with  in- 
structions to  take  the  telegram  to  the  head  office  of  the 
Submarine  Telegraph  Company,  and  there  to  arrange  pre- 
payment of  the  reply. 

"  I  rather  expect  Mr.  Meredith,"  said  Sir  John  to  the 
butler,  who  was  trimming  the  library  lamp  while  the  foot- 
man received  his  instructions.  "  Do  not  bring  coffee  until 
he  comes." 

And  Sir  John  was  right.  At  half-past  eight  Jack  arrived. 
Sir  John  was  awaiting  him  in  the  library,  grimly  sitting  in 
his  high-backed  chair,  as  carefully  dressed  as  for  a  great  re- 
ception. 

He  rose  when  his  son  entered  the  room,  and  they  shook 
hands.  There  was  a  certain  air  of  concentration  about 
both,  as  if  they  each  intended  to  say  more  than  they  had 
ever  said  before.  The  coffee  was  duly  brought.  This  was 
a  revival  of  an  old  custom.  In  by-gone  days  Jack  had  fre- 
quently come  in  thus,  and  they  had  taken  coffee  before 
going  together  in  Sir  John's  carriage  to  one  of  the  great 
social  functions  at  which  their  presence  was  almost  a  ne- 
cessity. Jack  had  always  poured  out  the  coffee — to-night 
he  did  not  offer  to  do  so. 

"  I  came,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "  to  give  you  a  piece  of 
news  which  I  am  afraid  will  not  be  very  welcome." 

Sir  John  bowed  his  head  gravely. 

"  You  need  not  temper  it,"  he  said,  "  to  me." 

"  Millicent  and  I  have  decided  to  make  our  engagement 
known,"  retorted  Jack  at  once. 


268  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Sir  John  bowed  again.  To  any  one  but  his  son  his  suave 
acquiescence  would  have  been  maddening. 

"  I  should  have  liked,"  continued  Jack,  "  to  have  done  it 
with  your  consent." 

'  Sir  John  winced.  He  sat  upright  in  his  chair  and  threw 
back  his  shoulders.  If  Jack  intended  to  continue  in  this 
way,  there  would  be  difficulties  to  face.  Father  and  son 
were  equally  determined.  Jack  had  proved  too  cunning  a 
pupil.  The  old  aristocrat's  own  lessons  were  being  turned 
against  him,  and  the  younger  man  has,  as  it  were,  the  light 
of  the  future  shining  upon  his  game  in  such  a  case  as  this, 
while  the  elder  plays  in  the  gathering  gloom. 

"You  know,"  said  Sir  John,  gravely,  "that  I  am  not 
much  given  to  altering  my  opinions.  I  do  not  say  that 
they  are  of  any  value ;  but,  such  as  they  are,  I  usually  hold 
to  them.  When  you  did  me  the  honor  of  mentioning  this 
matter  to  me  last  year,  I  gave  you  my  opinion." 

"  And  it  has  in  no  way  altered  ?" 

"  In  no  way.     I  have  found  no  reason  to  alter  it." 

"  Can  you  modify  it  ?"  asked  Jack,  gently. 

"No." 

"  Not  in  any  degree  ?" 

Jack  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  No." 

He  emitted  the  breath  slowly,  making  an  effort  so  that  it 
did  not  take  the  form  of  a  sigh. 

"Will  you,  at  all  events,  give  me  your  reasons?"  he 
asked.    "  I  am  not  a  child." 

Sir  John  fumbled  at  his  lips — he  glanced  sharply  at  his 
son. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  "  that  it  would  be  advisable  not  to 
ask  them." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  why  you  object  to  my  marrying 
Millicent,"  persisted  Jack. 

"  Simply  because  I  know  a  bad  woman  when  I  see  her," 
retorted  Sir  John,  deliberately. 


NO    COMPROMISE  269 

Jack  raised  his  eyebrows.  He  glanced  towards  the  door, 
as  if  contemplating  leaving  the  room  without  further  ado. 
But  he  sat  quite  still.  It  was  wonderful  how  little  it  hurt 
him.  It  was  more — it  was  significant.  Sir  John,  who  was 
watching,  saw  the  glance  and  guessed  the  meaning  of  it. 
An  iron  self-control  had  been  the  first  thing  he  had  taught 
Jack — years  before,  when  he  was  in  his  first  knickerbockers. 
The  lesson  had  not  been  forgotten. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  have  said  that,"  said  the  son. 

"  Just,"  continued  the  father,  "  as  I  know  a  good  one." 

He  paused,  and  they  were  both  thinking  of  the  same 
woman — Jocelyn  Gordon. 

Sir  John  had  said  his  say  about  Millicent  Chyne ;  and  his 
son  knew  that  that  was  the  last  word.  She  was  a  bad 
woman.     From  that  point  he  would  never  move. 

"  I  think,"  said  Jack,  "  that  it  is  useless  discussing  that 
point  any  longer." 

"  Quite.    When  do  you  intend  getting  married  ?" 

"  As  soon  as  possible." 

"A  mere  question  for  the  dress-maker ?"  suggested  Sir 
John,  suavely. 

"Yes." 

Sir  John  nodded  gravely. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  you  are,  as  you  say,  no  longer  a  child : 
perhaps  I  forget  that  sometimes.  If  I  do,  I  must  ask  you 
to  forgive  me.  I  will  not  attempt  to  dissuade  you.  You 
probably  know  your  own  affairs  best — " 

He  paused,  drawing  his  two  hands  slowly  back  on  his 
knees,  looking  into  the  fire  as  if  his  life  were  written  there. 

"At  all  events,"  he  continued,  "it  has  the  initial  recom- 
mendation of  a  good  motive.  I  imagine  it  is  what  is  called 
a  love  -  match.  I  don't  know  much  about  such  matters. 
Your  mother,  my  lamented  wife,  was  an  excellent  woman — 
too  excellent,  I  take  it,  to  be  able  to  inspire  the  feeling  in  a 
mere  human  being — perhaps  the  angels  .  .  .  she  never  in- 
spired it  in  me,  at  all  events.     My  own  life  has  not  been 


270  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

quite  a  success  within  this  room  ;  outside  it  has  been  brill- 
iant, active,  full  of  excitement.  Engineers  know  of  machines 
which  will  stay  upright  so  long  as  the  pace  is  kept*  up ;  some 
of  us  are  like  that.  I  am  not  complaining.  I  have  had  no 
worse  a  time  than  my  neighbors,  except  that  it  has  lasted 
longer," 

He  leaned  back  suddenly  in  his  chair  with  a  strange  little 
laugh.  Jack  was  leaning  forward,  listening  with  that  respect 
which  he  always  accorded  to  his  father. 

"  I  imagine,"  went  on  Sir  John,  "  that  the  novelists  and 
poets  are  not  very  far  wrong.  It  seems  that  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  a  humdrum  happiness  in  marriage.  I  have  seen 
quite  elderly  people  who  seem  still  to  take  pleasure  in  each 
other's  society.  With  the  example  of  my  own  life  before 
me,  I  wanted  yours  to  be  different.  My  motive  was  not  en- 
tirely bad.  But  perhaps  you  know  your  own  affairs  best. 
What  money  have  you  ?" 

Jack  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"  I  have  completed  the  sale  of  the  last  consignment  of 
Simiacine,"  he  began,  categorically.  "  The  demand  for  it 
has  increased.  We  have  now  sold  two  hundred  thousand 
pounds'  worth  in  England  and  America.  My  share  is  about 
sixty  thousand  pounds.  I  have  invested  most  of  that  sum, 
and  my  present  income  is  a  little  over  two  thousand  a  year." 

Sir  John  nodded  gravely. 

"I  congratulate  you,"  he  said;  "you  have  done  wonder- 
fully well.  It  is  satisfactory  in  one  way,  in  that  it  shows 
that  if  a  gentleman  chooses  to  go  into  these  commercial  af- 
fairs he  can  do  as  well  as  the  bourgeoisie.  It  leads  one  to  be- 
lieve that  English  gentlemen  are  not  degenerating  so  rapidly 
as  I  am  told  the  evening  Radical  newspapers  demonstrate 
for  the  trifling  consideration  of  one  half-penny.  But " — he 
paused  with  an  expressive  gesture  of  the  hand — "  I  should 
have  preferred  that  this  interesting  truth  had  been  proved 
by  the  son  of  some  one  else." 

"I  think,"  replied  Jack,  "that  our  speculation   hardly 


NO    COMPROMISE  271 

comes  under  the  category  of  commerce.  It  was  not  money 
that  was  at  risk,  but  our  own  lives." 

Sir  John's  eyes  hardened. 

"Adventure,"  he  suggested,  rather  indistinctly,  "travel 
and  adventure.  There  is  a  class  of  men  one  meets  fre- 
quently who  do  a  little  exploring  and  a  great  deal  of  talk- 
ing. Faute  de  mieux,  they  do  not  hesitate  to  interest  one 
in  the  special  pill  to  which  they  resort  when  indisposed,  and 
they  are  not  above  advertising  a  soap.  You  are  not  going 
to  write  a  book,  I  trust  ?" 

"  No.  It  would  hardly  serve  our  purpose  to  write  a 
book." 

"  In  what  way  ?"  inquired  Sir  John. 

"  Our  purpose  is  to  conceal  the  whereabouts  of  the  Simia- 
cine  Plateau." 

"  But  you  are  not  going  back  there?"  exclaimed  Sir  John, 
unguardedly. 

"  We  certainly  do  not  intend  to  abandon  it." 

Sir  John  leaned  forward  again,  with  his  two  hands  open 
on  his  knees,  thinking  deeply. 

"A  married  man,"  he  said,  "could  hardly  reconcile  it 
with  his  conscience  to  undertake  such  a  perilous  expedition." 

"No,"  replied  Jack,  with  quiet  significance. 

Sir  John  gave  a  forced  laugh. 

"  I  see,"  he  said,  "  that  you  have  outwitted  me.  If  I  do 
not  give  my  consent  to  your  marriage  without  further  de- 
lay, you  will  go  back  to  Africa." 

Jack  bowed  his  head  gravely. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  while  the  two  men  sat  side  by 
side,  gazing  into  the  fire. 

"  I  cannot  afford  to  do  that,"  said  the  father,  at  length ; 
"  I  am  getting  too  old  to  indulge  in  the  luxury  of  pride.  I 
will  attend  your  marriage.  I  will  smile  and  say  pretty 
things  to  the  bridesmaids.  Before  the  world  I  will  consent 
under  the  condition  that  the  ceremony  does  not  take  place 
before  two  months  from  this  date." 


272  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  I  agree  to  that,"  put  in  Jack. 

Sir  John  rose  and  stood  on  the  hearth-rug,  looking  down 
from  his  great  height  upon  his  son. 

"  But,"  he  continued,  "  between  us  let  it  he  understood 
that  I  move  in  no  degree  from  my  original  position.  I 
object  to  Millicent  Cbyne  as  your  wife.  But  I  bow  to  the 
force  of  circumstances.  I  admit  that  you  have  a  perfect 
right  to  marry  whom  you  choose — in  two  months'  time." 

So  Jack  took  his  leave. 

"  In  two  months'  time,"  repeated  Sir  John,  when  he  was 
alone,  with  one  of  his  twisted,  cynic  smiles — "  in  two  months' 
time — qui  vivra  verra" 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 
FOUL    PLAY 

"Oh,  fairest  of  creation,  last  and  best 
Of  all  God's  works!" 

For  one  or  two  days  after  the  public  announcement  of 
her  engagement  Millicent  was  not  quite  free  from  care. 
She  rather  dreaded  the  posts.  It  was  not  that  she  feared 
one  letter  in  particular,  but  the  postman's  disquietingly  ur- 
gent rap  caused  her  a  vague  uneasiness  many  times  a  day. 

Sir  John's  reply  to  her  appealing  little  letter  came  short 
and  sharp.     She  showed  it  to  no  one. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Chyne, — I  hasten  to  reply  to  your  kind  letter  of 
to-day  announcing  your  approaching  marriage  with  my  son.  There 
are  a  certain  number  of  trinkets  which  have  always  been  handed  on 
from  generation  to  generation.  I  will  at  once  have  these  cleaned  by 
the  jeweller,  in  order  that  they  may  be  presented  to  you  immediately 
after  the  ceremony.  Allow  me  to  urge  upon  you  the  advisability  of 
drawing  up  and  signing  a  pre-nuptial  marriage  settlement. 

"  Yours  sincerely,  John  Meredith." 


FOUL    PLAY  273 

Millicent  bit  her  pretty  lip  when  she  perused  this  note. 
She  made  two  comments,  at  a  considerable  interval  of  time. 

"  Stupid  old  thing !"  was  the  first ;  and  then,  after  a  pause, 
"  I  hope  they  are  all  diamonds." 

Close  upon  the  heels  of  this  letter  followed  a  host  of  oth- 
ers. There  was  the  gushing,  fervent  letter  of  the  friend 
whose  joy  was  not  marred  by  the  knowledge  that  a  wed- 
ding present  must  necessarily  follow.  Those  >among  one's 
friends  who  are  not  called  upon  to  offer  a  more  substantial 
token  of  joy  than  a  letter  are  always  the  most  keenly  pleased 
to  hear  the  news  of  an  engagement.  There  was  the  sober 
sheet  (crossed)  from  the  elderly  relative  living  in  the  coun- 
try, who,  never  having  been  married  herself,  takes  the  op- 
portunity of  giving  four  pages  of  advice  to  one  about  to 
enter  that  parlous  state.  There  was  the  fatherly  letter  from 
the  country  rector  who  christened  Millicent,  and  thinks  that 
he  may  be  asked  to  marry  her  in  a  fashionable  London  church 
— and  so  to  a  bishopric.  On  heavily-crested  stationery  fol- 
low the  missives  of  the  ladies  whose  daughters  would  make 
sweet  bridesmaids.  Also  the  hearty  congratulations  of  the 
slight  acquaintance,  who  is  going  to  Egypt  for  the  winter, 
and  being  desirous  of  letting  her  house  without  having  to 
pay  one  of  those  horrid  agents,  "sees  no  harm  in  mention- 
ing it."  The  house  being  most  singularly  suitable  for  a 
young  married  couple.  Besides  these,  the  thousand  and 
one  who  wished  to  be  invited  to  the  wedding;  in  order  to 
taste  cake  and  champagne  at  the  time,  and  thereafter  the 
sweeter  glory  of  seeing  their  names  in  the  fashionable  news. 

All  these  Millicent  read  with  little  interest,  and  answered 
in  that  conveniently  large  caligraphy  which  made  three  lines 
look  like  a  note  and  magnified  a  note  into  a  four-page  letter. 
The  dress-makers'  circulars — the  tradesmen's  illustrated  cat- 
alogues  of  things  she  could  not  possibly  want,  and  the  jew- 
ellers' delicate  photographs  interested  her  a  thousand  times 
more.  But  even  these  did  not  satisfy  her.  All  these  people 
were  glad — most  of  them  were  delighted.     Millicent  wanted 


274  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

to  hear  from  those  who  were  not  delighted,  nor  even  pleased, 
but  in  despair.  She  wanted  to  hear  more  of  the  broken- 
hearts.  But  somehow  the  broken-hearts  were  silent.  Could 
it  be  that  they  did  not  care?  Could  it  be  that  they  were 
only  flirting?  She  dismissed  these  silly  questions  with  the 
promptness  which  they  deserved.  It  was  useless  to  think 
of  it  in  that  way — more  useless,  perhaps,  than  she  suspect- 
ed ;  for  she  was  not  deep  enough  nor  observant  enough  to 
know  that  the  broken-hearts  in  question  had  been  much 
more  influenced  by  the  suspicion  that  she  cared  for  them 
than  by  the  thought  that  they  cared  for  her.  She  did  not 
know  the  lamentable,  vulgar  fact  that  any  woman  can  be  a 
flirt  if  she  only  degrade  her  womanhood  to  flattery.  Men 
do  not  want  to  love  so  much  as  to  be  loved.  Such  is,  more- 
over, their  sublime  vanity  that  they  are  ready  to  believe  any 
one  who  tells  them,  however  subtly — mesdames,  you  cannot 
be  too  subtle  for  a  man's  vanity  to  find  your  meaning — that 
they  are  not  as  other  men. 

To  the  commonplace  observer  it  would,  therefore,  appear 
(erroneously,  no  doubt)  that  the  broken-hearts,  having  been 
practically  assured  that  Millicent  Chyne  did  not  care  for 
them,  promptly  made  the  discovery  that  the  lack  of  feeling 
was  reciprocal.  But  Millicent  did  not,  of  course,  adopt  this 
theory.  She  knew  better.  She  only  wondered  why  several 
young  men  did  not  communicate,  and  she  was  slightly  un- 
easy lest  in  their  anger  they  should  do  or  say  something 
indiscreet. 

There  was  no  reason  why  the  young  people  should  wait. 
And  when  there  is  no  reason  why  the  young  people  should 
wait,  there  is  every  reason  why  they  should  not  do  so. 
Thus  it  came  about  that  in  a  week  or  so  Millicent  was  en- 
gaged in  the  happiest  pursuit  of  her  life.  She  was  buying 
clothes  without  a  thought  of  money.  The  full  joy  of  the 
trousseau  was  hers.  The  wives  of  her  guardians  having 
been  morally  bought,  dirt  cheap,  at  the  price  of  an  antici- 
patory invitation  to  the  wedding,  those  elderly  gentlemen 


FOUL    PLAY  275 

were  with  little  difficulty  won  over  to  a  pretty  little  fem- 
ininely vague  scheme  of  withdrawing  just  a  little  of  the  cap- 
ital— said  capital  to  be  spent  in  the  purchase  of  a  really  good 
trousseau,  you  know.  The  word  "  good  "  emanating  from 
such  a  source  must,  of  course,  be  read  as  "  novel,"  which  in 
some  circles  means  the  same  thing. 

Millicent  entered  into  the  thing  in  the  right  spirit.  What- 
ever the  future  might  hold  for  her — and  she  trusted  that  it 
might  be  full  of  millinery — she  was  determined  to  enjoy  the 
living  present  to  its  utmost.  Her  life  at  this  time  was  a 
whirl  of  excitement  —  excitement  of  the  keenest  order1 — 
namely,  trying  on. 

"  You  do  not  know  what  it  is,"  she  said,  with  a  happy 
little  sigh,  to  those  among  her  friends  who  probably  never 
would,  "to  stand  the  whole  day  long  being  pinned  into 
linings  by  Madame  Videpoche." 

And,  despite  the  sigh,  she  did  it  with  an  angelic  sweetness 
of  temper  which  quite  touched  the  heart  of  Madame  Vide- 
poche, while  making  no  difference  in  the  bill. 

Lady  Cantourne  would  not  have  been  human  had  she  as- 
sumed the  neutral  in  this  important  matter.  She  frankly 
enjoyed  it  all  immensely. 

"You  know,  Sir  John,"  she  said  in  confidence  to  him  one 
day  at  Hurlingham,  "I  have  always  dressed  Millicent." 

"  You  need  not  tell  me  that,"  he  interrupted,  gracefully. 
"  On  ne  peut  s'y  tromper." 

"And,"  she  went  on,  almost  apologetically,  "whatever 
my  own  feelings  on  the  subject  may  be,  I  cannot  abandon 
her  now.  The  world  expects  much  from  Millicent  Chyne. 
I  have  taught  it  to  do  so.  It  will  expect  more  from  Milli- 
cent— Meredith." 

The  old  gentleman  bowed  in  his  formal  way. 

"  And  the  world  must  not  be  disappointed,"  he  suggest- 
ed, cynically. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  with  an  energetic  little  nod,  "  it 
must  not.     That  is  the  way  to  manage  the  world.     Give  it 


276  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

what  it  expects;  and  just  a  little  more,  to  keep  its  attention 
fixed." 

Sir  John  tapped  with  his  gloved  finger  pensively  on  the 
knob  of  his  silver-mounted  cane. 

"  And  may  I  ask  your  ladyship,"  he  inquired,  suavely, 
"  what  the  world  expects  of  me  ?" 

He  knew  her  well  enough  to  know  that  she  never  made 
use  of  the  method  epigrammatic  without  good  reason. 

"  A  diamond  crescent,"  she  answered,  stoutly.  "  The 
fashion-papers  must  be  able  to  write  about  the  gift  of  the 
bridegroom's  father." 

"  Ah — and  they  prefer  a  diamond  crescent  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Lady  Cantourne.  "  That  always  seems 
to  satisfy  them." 

He  bowed  gravely,  and  continued  to  watch  the  polo  with 
that  marvellously  youthful  interest  which  was  his. 

"Does  the  world  expect  anything  else?"  he  asked,  pres- 
ently. 

"  No,  I  think  not,"  replied  Lady  Cantourne,  with  a  bright 
little  absent  smile.     "  Not  just  now." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  if  it  does  ?" 

He  had  risen ;  for  there  were  other  great  ladies  on  the 
ground  to  whom  he  must  pay  his  old-fashioned  respects. 

"Certainly,"  she  answered,  looking  up  at  him. 

"I  should  deem  it  a  favor,"  he  continued.  "  If  the  world 
does  not  get  what  it  expects,  I  imagine  it  will  begin  to  in- 
quire why ;  and  if  it  cannot  find  reasons  it  will  make  them." 

In  due  course  the  diamond  crescent  arrived. 

"It  is  rather  nice  of  the  old  thing,"  was  Millicent's  com- 
ment. She  held  the  jewel,  at  various  angles  in  various 
lights.  There  was  no  doubt  that  this  was  the  handsomest 
present  she  had  received  —  sent  direct  from  the  jeweller's 
shop  with  an  uncompromising  card  inside  the  case.  She 
never  saw  the  irony  of  it ;  but  Sir  John  had  probably  not 
expected  that  she  would.  He  enjoyed  it  alone — as  he  en' 
joyed  or  endured  most  things. 


FOUL    PLAY  277 

Lady  Cantourne  examined  it  with  some  curiosity. 

"  I  have  never  seen  such  beautiful  diamonds,"  she  said, 
simply. 

There  were  other  presents  to  be  opened  and  examined. 
For  the  invitations  had  not  been  sent  out,  and  many  were 
willing  to  pay  handsomely  for  the  privilege  of  being  men- 
tioned among  the  guests.  It  is,  one  finds,  after  the  invita- 
tions have  been  issued  that  the  presents  begin  to  fall  off. 

But  on  this  particular  morning  the  other  presents  fell  on 
barren  ground.  Millicent  only  half -heeded  them.  She 
could  not  lay  the  diamond  crescent  finally  aside.  Some 
people  have  the  power  of  imparting  a  little  piece  of  their 
individuality  to  their  letters,  and  even  to  a  commonplace 
gift.  Sir  John  was  beginning  to  have  this  power  over  Mil- 
licent. She  was  rapidly  falling  into  a  stupid  habit  of  feel- 
ing uneasy  whenever  she  thought  of  him.  She  was  vaguely 
alarmed  at  his  uncompromising  adherence  to  the  position 
he  had  assumed.  She  had  never  failed  yet  to  work  her  will 
with  men — young  and  old — by  a  pretty  persistence,  a  steady 
flattery,  a  subtle  pleading  manner.  But  Sir  John  had  met 
all  her  wiles  with  his  adamantine  smile.  He  would  not 
openly  declare  himself  an  enemy — which  she  argued  to  her- 
self would  have  been  much  nicer  of  him.  He  was  merely 
a  friend  of  her  aunt's,  and  from  that  contemplative  posi- 
tion he  never  stepped  down.  She  could  not  quite  make  out 
what  he  was  "  driving  at,"  as  she  herself  put  it.  He  never 
found  fault,  but  she  knew  that  his  disapproval  of  her  was 
the  result  of  long  and  careful  study.  Perhaps  in  her  heart 
— despite  all  her  contradictory  arguments — she  knew  that 
he  was  right. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said,  half  aloud,  taking  up  the  crescent 
again,  "  why  he  sent  it  to  me?" 

Lady  Cantourne,  who  was  writing  letters  at  a  terrible 
rate,  glanced  sharply  up.  She  was  beginning  to  be  aware 
of  Millicent's  unspoken  fear  of  Sir  John.  Moreover,  she 
was  clever  enough  to  connect  it  with  her  niece's  daily  in- 


278  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

creasing  love  for  the  man  who  was  soon  to  be  her  hus- 
band. 

"  Well,"  she  answered,  "  I  should  be  rather  surprised  if 
he  gave  you  nothing." 

There  was  a  little  pause,  only  broken  by  the  scratching 
of  Lady  Cantourne's  quill  pen. 

"  Auntie !"  exclaimed  the  girl,  suddenly,  "  why  does  he 
hate  me  ?  You  have  known  him  all  your  life — you  must 
know  why  he  hates  me  so." 

Lady  Cantourne  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  I  suppose,"  went  on  Millicent,  with  singular  heat,  "  that 
some  one  has  been  telling  him  things  about  me — horrid 
things — false  things — that  I  am  a  flirt,  or  something  like 
that.     I  am  sure  I'm  not." 

Lady  Cantourne  was  addressing  an  envelope,  and  did  not 
make  any  reply. 

"Has  he  said  anything  to  you,  Aunt  Caroline?"  asked 
Millicent,  in  an  aggrieved  voice. 

Lady  Cantourne  laid  aside  her  letter. 

"No,"  she  answered,  slowly;  "but  I  suppose  there  are 
things  which  he  does  not  understand." 

"Things?" 

Her  ladyship  looked  up  steadily. 

"  Guy  Oscard,  for  instance,"  she  said ;  "  I  don't  quite  un- 
derstand Guy  Oscard,  Millicent." 

The  girl  turned  away  impatiently.  She  was  keenly  alive 
to  the  advantage  of  turning  her  face  away.  For  in  her 
pocket  she  had  at  that  moment  a  letter  from  Guy  Oscard — 
the  last  relic  of  the  old  excitement  which  was  so  dear  to 
her,  and  which  she  was  already  beginning  to  miss.  Joseph 
had  posted  this  letter  in  Msala  nearly  two  months  before. 
It  had  travelled  down  from  the  Simiacine  Plateau  with 
others,  in  a  parcel  beneath  the  mattress  of  Jack  Meredith's 
iitter.  It  was  a  letter  written  in  good  faith  by  an  honest, 
devoted  man  to  the  woman  whom  he  looked  upon  already 
as  almost  his  wife — a  letter  which  no  man  need  have  been 


THE    ACCURSED    CAMP  279 

ashamed  of  writing,  but  which  a  woman  ought  not  to  have 
read  unless  she  intended  to  be  the  writer's  wife. 

Milliceut  had  read  this  letter  more  than  once.  She  liked 
it  because  it  was  evidently  sincere.  The  man's  heart  could 
be  heard  beating  in  every  line  of  it.  Moreover,  she  had 
made  inquiries  that  very  morning  at  the  post-office  about 
the  African  mail.  She  wanted  the  excitement  of  another 
letter  like  that. 

"  Oh,  Guy  Oscard  I"  she  replied,  innocently,  to  Lady  Can- 
tourne  ;  "that  was  nothing." 

Lady  Cantourne  kept  silence,  and  presently  she  returned 
to  her  letters. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 
THE    ACCURSED    CAMP 

"  Here — judge  if  hell,  with  all  its  power  to  damn, 
Can  add  one  curse  to  tbe  foul  thing  I  am." 

There  are  some  places  in  the  world  where  a  curse  seems 
to  brood  in  the  atmosphere.  Msala  was  one  of  these.  Per- 
haps these  places  are  accursed  by  the  deeds  that  have  been 
done  there.     Who  can  tell  ? 

Could  the  trees — the  two  gigantic  palms  that  stood  by 
the  river's  edge — could  these  have  spoken,  they  might  per- 
haps have  told  the  tale  of  this  little  inland  station  in  that 
country  where,  as  the  founder  of  the  hamlet  was  in  the 
habit  of  saying,  no  one  knows  what  is  going  on. 

All  went  well  with  the  retreating  column  until  they  were 
almost  in  sight  of  Msala,  when  the  flotilla  was  attacked  by 
no  less  than  three  hippopotamuses.  One  canoe  was  sunk, 
and  four  others  were  so  badly  damaged  that  they  could  not 
be  kept  afloat  with  their  proper  complement  of  men.  There 


280  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

was  nothing  for  it  but  to  establish  a  camp  at  Msala,  and 
wait  there  until  the  builders  had  repaired  the  damaged 
canoes. 

The  walls  of  Durnovo's  house  were  still  standing,  and 
here  Guy  Oscard  established  himself  with  as  much  comfort 
as  circumstances  allowed.  He  caused  a  temporary  roof  of 
palm-leaves  to  be  laid  on  the  charred  beams,  and  within 
the  principal  room — the  very  room  where  the  three  organiz- 
ers of  the  great  Simiacine  scheme  had  first  laid  their  plans 
— he  set  up  his  simple  camp  furniture. 

Oscard  was  too  great  a  traveller,  too  experienced  a  wan- 
derer, to  be  put  out  of  temper  by  this  enforced  rest.  The 
men  had  worked  very  well  hitherto.  It  had,  in  its  way, 
been  a  great  feat  of  generalship,  this  leading  through  a 
wild  country  of  men  uuprepared  for  travel,  scantily  pro- 
visioned, disorganized  by  recent  events.  No  accident  had 
happened,  no  serious  delay  had  been  incurred,  although  the 
rate  of  progress  had  necessarily  been  very  slow.  Nearly  six 
weeks  had  elapsed  since  Oscard  with  his  little  following  had 
turned  their  backs  forever  on  the  Simiacine  Plateau.  But 
now  the  period  of  acute  danger  had  passed  away.  They 
had  almost  reached  civilization.     Oscard  was  content. 

"When  Oscard  was  content  he  smoked  a  slower  pipe  than 
usual — watching  each  cloud  of  smoke  vanish  into  thin  air. 
He  was  smoking  very  slowly,  this,  the  third  evening  of 
their  encampment  at  Msala.  There  had  been  heavy  rain 
during  the  day,  and  the  whole  lifeless  forest  was  dripping 
with  a  continuous,  ceaseless  clatter  of  heavy  drops-  on  tropic 
foliage,  with  an  amalgamated  sound  like  a  wide-spread  whis- 
per. 

Oscard  was  sitting  in  the  windowless  room  without  a 
light,  for  a  light  only  attracted  a  myriad  of  heavy-winged 
moths.  He  was  seated  before  the  long  French  window, 
which,  since  the  sash  had  gone,  had  been  used  as  a  door. 
Before  him  in  the  glimmering  light  of  the  mystic  Southern 
Cross  the  great  river  crept  unctuously,  silently  to  the  sea. 


THE    ACCDRSED    CAMP  281 

It  seemed  to  be  stealing  away  surreptitiously  while  the 
forest  whispered  of  it.  In  its  surface  the  reflection  of  the 
great  stars  of  the  southern  hemisphere  ran  into  little  streaks 
of  silver,  shimmering  awav  into  darkness. 

All  sound  of  human  life  was  still.  The  natives  were 
asleep.  In  the  next  room,  Joseph  in  his  hammock  was  just 
on  the  barrier  between  the  waking  and  the  sleeping  life — as 
soldiers  learn  to  be.  Oscard  would  not  have  needed  to  raise 
his  voice  to  call  him  to  his  side. 

The  leader  of  this  hurried  retreat  bad  been  sitting  there 
for  two  hours.  The  slimy  moving  surface  of  the  river  had 
entered  into  his  brain  ;  the  restless  silence  of  the  African 
forest  alone  kept  him  awake.  He  hardly  realized  that  the 
sound  momentarily  gaining  strength  within  his  ears  was 
that  of  a  paddle  —  a  single,  weakly  irregular  paddle.  It 
was  not  a  sound  to  wake  a  sleeping  man.  It  came  so  slow- 
ly, so  gently  through  the  whisper  of  the  dripping  leaves 
that  it  would  enter  into  bis  slumbers  and  make  itself  part 
of  them. 

Guy  Oscard  only  realized  the  meaning  of  that  sound 
when  a  black  shadow  crept  on  to  the  smooth  evenness  of 
the  river's  breast.  Oscard  was  eminently  a  man  of  action. 
In  a  moment  he  was  on  his  feet,  and  in  the  darkness  of  the 
room  there  was  the  gleam  of  a  rifle-barrel.  He  came  back 
to  the  window — watching. 

He  saw  the  canoe  approach  the  bank.  He  heard  the 
thud  of  the  paddle  as  it  was  thrown  upon  the  ground.  In 
the  gloom,  to  which  his  eyes  were  accustomed,  he  saw  a 
man  step  from  the  boat  to  the  shore  and  draw  the  canoe  up. 
The  silent  midnight  visitor  then  turned  and  walked  up  tow- 
ards the  house.  There  was  something  familiar  in  the  gait 
— the  legs  were  slightly  bowed.  The  man  was  walking 
with  great  difficulty,  staggering  a  little  at  each  step.  He 
seemed  to  be  in  great  pain. 

Guy  Oscard  laid  aside  the  rifle.  He  stepped  forward  to 
the  open  window. 


282  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"Is  that  you,  Durnovo?"  he  said,  without  raising  his 
voice. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  other.  His  voice  was  muffled,  as  if 
his  tongue  were  swollen,  and  there  was  a  startling  break 
in  it. 

Oscard  stepped  aside,  and  Durnovo  passed  into  his  own 
house. 

"Got  a  light?"  he  said,  in  the  same  muffled  way. 

In  the  next  room  Joseph  could  be  heard  striking  a  match, 
and  a  moment  later  he  entered  the  room,  throwing  a  flood 
of  light  before  him. 

"  Good  God  /"  cried  Guy  Oscard.  He  stepped  back  as  if 
he  had  been  struck,  with  his  hand  shielding  his  eyes. 

"  Save  us  !"  ejaculated  Joseph  in  the  same  breath. 

The  thing  that  stood  there — sickening  their  gaze — was 
not  a  human  being  at  all.  Take  a  man's  eyelids  away, 
leaving  the  round  balls  staring,  blood-streaked  ;  cut  away  his 
lips,  leaving  the  grinning  teeth  and  red  gums;  shear  off  his 
ears — that  which  is  left  is  not  a  man  at  all.  This  bad  been 
done  to  Victor  Durnovo.  Truly  the  vengeance  of  man  is 
crueller  than  the  vengeance  of  God  ! 

Could  he  have  seen  himself,  Victor  Durnovo  would  never 
have  shown  that  face — or  what  remained  of  it — to  a  human 
being.  He  could  only  have  killed  himself.  Who  can  tell 
what  cruelties  had  been  paid  for,  piece  by  piece,  in  this 
loathsome  mutilation?  The  slaves  had  wreaked  their  ter- 
rible vengeance ;  but  the  greatest,  the  deepest,  the  most  in- 
human cruelty  was  in  letting  him  go. 

"They've  made  a  pretty  mess  of  me,"  said  Durnovo,  in  a 
sickening,  lifeless  voice — and  he  stood  there,  with  a  terrible 
caricature  of  a  grin. 

Joseph  set  down  the  lamp  with  a  groan,  and  went  back 
into  the  dark  room  beyond,  where  he  cast  himself  upon  the 
ground  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  O  Lord  !"  he  muttered.  "  O  God  in  heaven— kill  it, 
kill  it  1" 


THE    ACCURSED    CAMP  283 

Guy  Oscard  never  attempted  to  run  away  from  it.  He  stood 
slowly  gulping  down  his  nauseating  horror.  His  teeth  were 
clinched ;  his  face,  through  the  sunburn,  livid ;  the  blue  of 
his  eyes  seemed  to  have  faded  into  an  ashen  gray.  The 
sight  he  was  looking  on  would  have  sent  three  men  out  of 
five  into  gibbering  idiocy. 

Then  at  last  he  moved  forward.  With  averted  eyes  he 
took  Durnovo  by  the  arm. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  lie  down  upon  my  bed.  I  will  try 
and  help  you.     Can  you  take  some  food  ?" 

Durnovo  threw  himself  down  heavily  on  the  bed.  There 
was  a  punishment  sufficient  to  expiate  all  his  sins  in  the 
effort  he  saw  that  Guy  Oscard  had  had  to  make  before  he 
touched  him.     He  turned  his  face  away. 

"  I  haven't  eaten  anything  for  twenty-four  hours,"  he 
said,  with  a  whistling  intonation. 

"Joseph,"  said  Oscard,  returning  to  the  door  of  the  inner 
room — his  voice  sounded  different,  there  was  a  metallic  ring 
in  it — "  get  something  for  Mr.  Durnovo — some  soup  or 
something." 

Joseph  obeyed,  shaking  as  if  ague  were  in  his  bones. 

Oscard  administered  the  soup.  He  tended  Durnovo  with 
all  the  gentleness  of  a  woman,  and  a  fortitude  that  was 
above  the  fortitude  of  men.  Despite  himself  his  hands 
trembled — big  and  strong  as  they  were ;  his  whole  being 
was  contracted  with  horror  and  pain.  Whatever  Victor 
Durnovo  had  been,  he  was  now  an  object  of  such  pity  that 
before  it  all  possible  human  sins  faded  into  spotlessness. 
There  was  no  crime  in  all  that  human  nature  has  found  to 
commit  for  which  such  cruelty  as  this  would  be  justly  meted 
out  in  punishment. 

Durnovo  spoke  from  time  to  time,  but  he  could  see  the 
effect  that  his  hissing  speech  had  upon  his  companion,  and 
in  time  he  gave  it  up.  He  told  haltingly  of  the  horrors  of 
the  Simiacine  Plateau — of  the  last  grim  tragedy  acted  there 
•■— how  at  last,  blinded  with  his  blood,  maimed,  stupefied  by 


284  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

agony,  he  had  been  hounded  down  the  slope  by  a  yelling, 
laughing  horde  of  torturers. 

There  was  not  much  to  be  done,  and  presently  Guy 
Oscard  moved  away  to  his  camp-chair,  where  he  sat  staring 
into  the  night.  Sleep  was  impossible.  Strong,  hardened, 
weather-beaten  man  that  he  was,  his  nerves  were  all  a-tingle, 
his  flesh  creeping  and  jumping  with  horror.  Gradually  he 
collected  his  faculties  enough  to  begin  to  think  about  the 
future.  What  was  be  to  do  with  this  man  ?  He  could  not 
take  him  to  Loango.  He  could  not  risk  that  Jocelyn  or 
even  Maurice  Gordon  should  look  upon  this  horror. 

Joseph  had  crept  back  into  the  inner  room,  where  he  had 
no  light,  and  could  be  heard  breathing  hard,  wide  awake  in 
his  hammock. 

Suddenly  the  silence  was  broken  by  a  loud  cry : 

"Oscard!  Oscard!" 

In  a  moment  Joseph  and  Oscard  were  at  the  bedside. 

Durnovo  was  sitting  up,  and  he  grabbed  at  Oscard's 
arms. 

"  For  God's  sake !"  he  cried.  "  For  God's  sake,  man, 
don't  let  me  go  to  sleep !" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Oscard.  They  both  thought 
that  he  had  gone  mad.  Sleep  had  nothing  more  to  do  with 
Durnovo's  eyes — protruding,  staring,  terrible  to  look  at. 

"Don't  let  me  go  to  sleep,"  he  repeated.  "Don't! 
Don't!" 

"  All  right,"  said  Oscard,  soothingly — "  all  right.  We'll 
look  after  you." 

He  fell  back  on  the  bed.  In  the  flickering  light  his  eye- 
balls gleamed. 

Then,  quite  suddenly,  he  rose  to  a  sitting  position  again 
with  a  wild  effort. 

"  I've  got  it !     I've  got  it !"  he  cried. 

"Got  what?" 

"  The  sleeping  sickness  I" 

The  two  listeners  knew  of  this  strange  disease.     Oscard 


THE    ACCURSED    CAMP  285 

had  seen  a  whole  village  devastated  bv  it,  the  habitants 
lying  about  their  own  doors,  stricken  down  by  a  deadly 
sleep,  from  which  they  never  woke.  It  is  known  on  the 
West  Coast  of  Africa,  and  the  cure  for  it  is  unknown. 

"  Hold  me  !"  cried  Durnovo.     "  Don't  let  me  sleep!" 

His  head  fell  forward  even  as  he  spoke,  and  the  staring, 
wide-open  eyes  that  could  uot  sleep  made  a  horror  of  him. 

Oscard  took  him  by  the  arms,  and  held  hira  in  a  sitting 
position.     Durnovo's  fingers  were  clutching  at  his  sleeve. 

"  Shake  me  !     God  !  shake  me  !" 

Then  Oscard  took  him  in  his  strong  arms  and  set  him  on 
his  feet.  He  shook  him  gently  at  first,  but  as  the  dread 
somnolence  crept  on  he  shook  harder,  until  the  mutilated 
inhuman  head  rolled  upon  the  shoulders. 

"  It's  a  sin  to  let  that  man  live,"  exclaimed  Joseph,  turn- 
ing away  in  horror. 

"  It's  a  sin  to  let  any  man  die,"  replied  Oscard,  and  with 
his  great  strength  he  shook  Durnovo  like  a  garment. 

And  so  Victor  Durnovo  died.  His  stained  soul  left  his 
body  in  Guy  Oscard's  hands,  and  the  big  Englishman  shook 
the  corpse,  trying  to  awake  it  from  that  sleep  which  knows 
no  earthly  waking. 

So,  after  all,  Heaven  stepped  in  and  laid  its  softening 
hand  on  the  judgment  of  men.  But  there  was  a  strange 
irony  in  the  mode  of  death.  It  was  strange  that  this  man, 
who  never  could  have  closed  his  eyes  again,  should  have 
been  stricken  down  by  the  sleeping  jickness. 

They  laid  the  body  on  the  floor,  and  covered  the  face, 
which  was  less  grewsome  in  death,  for  the  pity  of  the  eyes 
had  given  place  to  peace. 

The  morning  light,  bursting  suddenly  through  the  trees  as 
it  does  in  Equatorial  Africa,  showed  the  room  set  in  order 
and  Guy  Oscard  sleeping  in  his  camp-chair.  Behind  him, 
on  the  floor,  lay  the  form  of  Victor  Durnovo.  Joseph,  less 
iron-nerved  than  the  great  big-game  hunter,  was  awake  and 
sstir  with  the  dawn.     He,  too,  was  calmer  now.     He  had 


286  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

seen  death  face  to  face  too  often  to  be  appalled  by  it  in 
broad  daylight. 

So  they  buried  Victor  Durnovo  between  the  two  giant 
palms  at  Msala,  with  his  feet  turned  towards  the  river 
which  he  had  made  his,  as  if  ready  to  arise  when  the  call 
comes  and  undertake  one  of  those  marvellous  journeys  of 
his  which  are  yet  a  household  word  on  the  West  Coast. 

The  cloth  fluttered  as  they  lowered  him  into  his  narrow 
resting-place,  and  the  face  they  covered  had  a  strange  mystic 
grin,  as  if  he  saw  something  that  they  could  not  perceive. 
Perhaps  he  did.  Perhaps  he  saw  the  Simiacine  Plateau,  and 
knew  that,  after  all,  he  had  won  the  last  throw  ;  for  up 
there,  far  above  the  table-lands  of  Central  Africa,  there  lay 
beneath  high  heaven  a  charnel-house.  Hounded  down  the 
slope  by  his  tormentors,  he  had  left  a  memento  behind  him 
surer  than  their  torturing  knives,  keener  than  their  sharpest 
steel — he  had  left  the  sleeping  sickness  behind  him. 

His  last  journey  had  been  worthy  of  his  reputation.  In 
twenty  days  he  had  covered  the  distance  between  the 
Plateau  and  Msala,  stumbling  on  alone,  blinded,  wounded, 
sore-stricken,  through  a  thousand  daily  valleys  of  death. 
With  wonderful  endurance  he  had  paddled  night  and  day 
down  the  sleek  river  without  rest,  with  the  dread  microbe 
of  the  sleeping  sickness  slowly  creeping  through  his  veins. 

He  had  lived  in  dread  of  this  disease,  as  men  do  of  a 
sickness  which  clutches  them  at  last;  but  when  it  came  he 
did  not  recognize  it.  He  was  so  racked  by  pain  that  he 
never  recognized  the  symptoms',  he  was  so  panic-stricken, 
so  paralyzed  by  the  nameless  fear  that  lay  behind  him,  that 
he  could  only  think  of  pressing  forward.  In  the  night 
hours  he  would  suddenly  rise  from  his  precarious  bed  under 
the  shadow  of  a  fallen  tree  and  stagger  on,  haunted  by  a 
picture  of  his  ruthless  foes  pressing  through  the  jungle  in 
pursuit.  Thus  he  accomplished  his  wonderful  journey  alone 
through  trackless  forests;  thus  he  fended  off  the  sickness 
which  gripped  him  the  moment  that  he  laid  him  down  to  rest. 


THE    EXTENUATING    CIRCUMSTANCE  287 

He  had  left  it — a  grim  legacy — to  his  torturers,  and  be- 
fore he  reached  the  river  all  was  still  on  the  Simiaciue 
Plateau. 

And  so  we  leave  Victor  Durnovo.  His  sins  are  buried 
with  him,  and  beneath  the  giant  palms  at  Msala  lies  Maurice 
Gordon's  secret. 

And  so  we  leave  Msala,  the  accursed  camp.  Far  up  the 
Ogowe  River,  on  the  left  bank,  the  giant  palms  still  stand 
sentry,  and  beneath  their  shade  the  crumbling  walls  of  a 
cursed  house  are  slowly  disappearing  beneath  luxuriant 
growths  of  grass  and  brushwood. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 
THE    EXTENUATING    CIRCUMSTANCE 

"Yet  I  think  at  God's  tribunal 
Some  large  answer  you  shall  hear." 

In  a  dimly-lighted  room  in  the  bungalow  at  Loango  two 
women  had  been  astir  all  night.  Now,  as  dawn  approached, 
one  of  them,  worn  out  with  watching,  wearied  with  that 
blessed  fatigue  of  anxiety  which  dulls  the  senses,  had  laid 
her  down  on  the  curtain-covered  bed  to  sleep. 

While  Marie  slept  Jocelyn  Gordon  walked  softly  back- 
ward and  forward  with  Nestorius  in  her  arms.  Nestorius 
was  probably  dying.  He  lay  in  the  Englishwoman's  gentle 
arms  —  a  little  brown  bundle  of  flexible  limbs  and  cotton 
night-shirt.  It  was  terribly  hot.  All  day  the  rain  had  been 
pending;  all  night  it  had  held  off  until  the  whole  earth 
seemed  to  pulsate  with  the  desire  for  relief.  Jocelyn  kept 
moving  so  that  the  changing  air  wafted  over  the  little  bare 
limbs  might  allay  the  fever.  She  was  in  evening  dress, 
having,  indeed,  been  called   from   the   drawing-room   by 


288  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Marie;  and  the  child's  woolly  black  head  was  pressed 
against  her  breast  as  if  to  seek  relief  from  the  inward  press- 
ure on  the  awakening  brain. 

A  missionary  possessing  some  small  knowledge  of  medi- 
cine had  been  with  them  until  midnight,  and,  having  done 
his  best,  had  gone  away  leaving  the  child  to  the  two  women. 
Maurice  had  been  in  twice,  clumsily,  on  tiptoe,  to  look 
with  ill-concealed  awe  at  the  child,  and  to  whisper  hopes  to 
Marie  which  displayed  a  ludicrous,  if  lamentable,  ignorance 
of  what  he  was  talking  about. 

"  Little  chap's  better,"  he  said  ;  "  I'm  sure  of  it.  See, 
Marie,  his  eyes  are  brighter.  Devilish  hot,  though,  isn't  he 
— poor  little  soul  ?" 

Then  he  stood  about,  awkwardly  sympathetic. 

"Anything  I  can  do  for  you,  Jocelyn  ?"  he  asked,  and 
then  departed,  only  too  pleased  to  get  away  from  the  impend- 
ing calamity. 

Marie  was  not  emotional.  She  seemed  to  have  left  all 
emotion  behind,  in  some  other  phase  of  her  life  which  was 
shut  off  from  the  present  by  a  thick  curtain.  She  was 
patient  and  calm,  but  she  was  not  so  clever  with  the  child 
as  was  Jocelyn.  Perhaps  her  greater  experience  acted  as  a 
handicap  in  her  execution  of  those  small  offices  to  the  sick 
which  may  be  rendered  useless  at  any  moment.  Perhaps 
she  knew  that  Nestorius  was  wanted  elsewhere.  Or  it  may 
only  have  been  that  Jocelyn  was  able  to  soothe  him  sooner, 
because  there  is  an  unwritten  law  that  those  who  love  us 
best  are  not  always  the  best  nurses  for  us. 

When,  at  last,  sleep  came  to  the  child,  it  was  in  Jocelyn's 
arms  that  he  lay  with  that  utter  abandonment  of  pose 
which  makes  a  sleeping  infant  and  a  sleeping  kitten  more 
graceful  than  any  living  thing.  Marie  leaned  over  Nesto- 
rius until  her  dusky  cheek  almost  touched  Jocelyn's  fair 
English  one. 

"  He  is  asleep,"  she  whispered. 

And  her  great  dark  eyes  probed  Jocelyn's  face  as  if 


THE    EXTENUATING    CIRCUMSTANCE  289 

wondering  whether  her  arms,  bearing  that  burden,  told  her 
that  this  was  the  last  sleep. 

Jocelyn  nodded  gravely,  and  continued  the  gentle  sway- 
ing motion  affected  by  women  under  such  circumstances. 

Nestorius  continued  to  sleep,  and  at  last  Marie,  overcome 
by  sleep  herself,  lay  down  on  her  bed. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  the  dawn  found  Jocelyn  moving 
softly  in  the  room,  with  Nestorius  asleep  in  her  arms.  A 
pink  light  came  creeping  through  the  trees,  presently  turn- 
ing to  a  golden  yellow,  and,  behold !  it  was  light.  It  was  a 
little  cooler,  for  the  sea-breeze  had  set  in.  The  cool  air 
from  the  surface  of  the  water  was  rushing  inland  to  supply 
the  place  of  the  heated  atmosphere  rising  towards  the  sun. 
With  the  breeze  came  the  increased  murmur  of  the  distant 
surf.  The  dull  continuous  sound  seemed  to  live  amid  the 
summits  of  the  trees  far  above  the  low-built  house.  It  rose 
and  fell  with  a  long-drawn,  rhythmic  swing.  Already  the 
sounds  of  life  were  mingling  with  it  —  the  low  of  a  cow, 
the  crowing  of  the  cocks,  the  hum  of  the  noisier  daylight 
insect-life. 

Jocelyn  moved  to  the  window,  and  her  heart  suddenly 
leaped  to  her  throat. 

On  the  brown  turf  in  front  of  the  house  were  two  men, 
stretched  side  by  side,  as  if  other  hands  had  laid  them 
there  dead.  One  man  was  much  bigger  than  the  other. 
He  was  of  exceptional  stature.  Jocelyn  recognized  them  al- 
most immediately — Guy  Oscard  and  Joseph.  They  had  ar- 
rived during  the  night,  and,  not  wishing  to  disturb  the 
sleeping  household,  had  lain  them  down  in  the  front  garden 
to  sleep  with  a  quiet  conscience  beneath  the  stars.  The 
action  was  so  startlingly  characteristic,  so  suggestive  of  the 
primeval,  simple  man  whom  Oscard  represented  as  one  born 
out  of  time,  that  Jocelyn  laughed  suddenly. 

While  she  was  still  at  the  window,  Marie  rose  and  came 
to  her  side.  Nestorius  was  still  sleeping.  Following  the  di- 
rection of  her  mistress's  eyes,  Marie  saw  the  two  men.     Jo- 


290  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

seph  was  sleeping  on  his  face,  after  the  manner  of  Thomas 
Atkins  all  the  world  over.  Guy  Oscard  lay  on  his  side,  with 
his  head  on  his  arm. 

"  That  is  so  like  Guy  Oscard,"  said  Marie,  with  her  pa- 
tient smile,  "  so  like — so  like.  It  could  be  no  other  man — 
to  do  a  thing  like  that." 

Jocelyn  gave  Nestorius  back  to  his  mother,  and  the  two 
women  stood  for  a  moment  looking  out  at  the  sleepers, 
little  knowing  what  the  advent  of  these  two  men  brought 
with  it  for  one  of  them.  Then  the  Englishwoman  went  to 
change  her  dress,  awaking  her  brother  as  she  passed  his 
room. 

It  was  not  long  before  Maurice  Gordon  bad  hospitably 
awakened  the  travellers  and  brought  them  in  to  change 
their  torn  and  ragged  clothes  for  something  more  presenta- 
ble. It  would  appear  that  Nestorius  was  not  particular. 
He  did  not  mind  dying  on  the  kitchen  table  if  need  were. 
His  mother  deposited  him  on  this  table  on  a  pillow,  while 
she  prepared  the  breakfast  with  that  patient  resignation 
which  seemed  to  emanate  from  having  tasted  of  the  worst 
that  the  world  has  to  give. 

Joseph  was  ready  the  first,  and  he  promptly  repaired  to 
the  kitchen,  where  he  set  to  work  to  help  Marie,  with  his 
customary  energy. 

It  was  Marie  who  first  perceived  a  difference  in  Nestorius. 
His  dusky  little  face  was  shining  with  a  sudden,  weakening 
perspiration,  his  limbs  lay  lifelessly,  with  a  lack  of  their 
usual  comfortable-looking  grace. 

"  Go  !"  she  said,  quickly.     "  Fetch  Miss  Gordon  !" 

Jocelyn  came,  and  Maurice  and  Guy  Oscard ;  for  they 
had  been  together  in  the  dining-room  when  Joseph  delivered 
Marie's  message. 

Nestorius  was  wide  awake  now.  When  he  saw  Oscard 
his  small  face  suddenly  expanded  into  a  brilliant  grin. 

"  Bad  case !"  he  said. 

It  was  rather  startling,  until  Marie  spoke. 


THE    EXTENUATING    CIRCUMSTANCE  291 

"  He  thinks  you  are  Mr.  Meredith,"  she  said.  "  Mr. 
Meredith  taught  him  to  say  '  bad  case.'  " 

Nestorius  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  gravely 
speculative  eyes,  which  presently  closed. 

"  He  is  dying  —  yes !"  said  the  mother,  looking  at 
Jocelyn. 

Oscard  knew  more  of  this  matter  that  any  of  them.  He 
went  forward  and  leaned  over  the  table.  Marie  removed  a 
piece  of  salted  bacon  that  was  lying  on  the  table  near  to 
the  pillow.  With  the  unconsciousness  of  long  habit  she 
swept  some  crumbs  away  with  her  apron.  Oscard  was  trying 
to  find  the  pulse  in  the  tiny  wrist,  but  there  was  not  much 
to  find. 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  very  ill,"  he  said. 

At  this  moment  the  kettle  boiled  over,  and  Marie  had  to 
turn  away  to  attend  to  her  duties. 

When  she  came  back  Oscard  was  looking,  not  at  Nes- 
torius, but  at  her. 

"  We  spent  four  days  at  Msala,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  that 
meant  that  he  had  more  to  tell  her. 

"Yes?" 

"  The  place  is  in  ruins,  as  you  know." 

She  nodded  with  a  peculiar  little  twist  of  the  lips  as  if 
he  were  hurting  her. 

"  And  I  am  afraid  I  have  some  bad  news  for  you.  Victor 
Durnovo,  your  master — " 

"  Yes— tell  quickly  !" 

"He  is  dead.  We  buried  him  at  Msala.  He  died  —  in 
my  arms." 

At  this  moment  Joseph  gave  a  little  gasp  and  turned 
away  to  the  window,  where  he  stood  with  his  broad  back 
turned  towards  them.  Maurice  Gordon,  as  white  as  death, 
was  leaning  against  the  table.  He  quite  forgot  himself. 
His  lips  were  apart,  his  jaw  had  dropped  ;  he  was  hanging 
breathlessly  on  Guy  Oscard's  next  word. 

"  He  died  of  the  sleeping  sickness,"  said  Oscard.     "  We 


292  With  edged  tools 

had  come  down  to  Msala  before  him  —  Joseph  and  I.  I 
broke  up  the  partnership,  and  we  left  him  in  possession  of 
the  Simiacine  Plateau.  But  his  men  turned  against  him. 
For  some  reason  his  authority  over  them  failed.  He  was 
obliged  to  make  a  dash  for  Msala,  and  he  reached  it,  but 
the  sickness  was  upon  him." 

Maurice  Gordon  drew  a  sharp  sigh  of  relief  which  was 
almost  a  sob.  Marie  was  standing  with  her  two  hands  on 
the  pillow  where  Nestorius  lay.  Her  deep  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  Englishman's  sunburnt,  strongly  gentle  face. 

"  Did  he  send  a  message  for  me — yes  ?"  she  said,  softly. 

"  No,"  answered  Oscard.     "  He — there  was  no  time." 

Joseph  at  the  window  had  turned  half  round. 

"  He  was  my  husband,"  said  Marie,  in  her  clear,  deep 
tones:  "the  father  of  this  little  one,  which  you  call  Nes- 
torius." 

Oscard  bowed  his  head  without  surprise.  Jocelyn  was 
standing  still  as  a  statue,  with  her  hand  on  the  dying  in- 
fant's cheek.     No  one  dared  to  look  at  her. 

"  It  is  all  right,"  said  Marie,  bluntly.  "  We  were  married 
at  Sierra  Leone  by  the  English  chaplain.  My  father,  who 
is  dead,  kept  a  hotel  at  Sierra  Leone,  and  he  knew  the  ways 
of  the  —  half-castes.  He  said  that  the  Protestant  Church 
at  Sierra  Leone  was  good  enough  for  him,  and  we  were 
married  there.  And  then  Victor  brought  me  away  from 
my  people  to  this  place  and  to  Msala.  Then  he  got  tired 
of  me — he  cared  no  more.     He  said  I  was  ugly." 

She  pronounced  it  "ogly,"  and  seemed  to  think  that 
the  story  finished  there.  At  all  events,  she  added  nothing 
to  it.    But  Joseph  thought  fit  to  contribute  a.  post  scriptum. 

"  You'd  better  tell  'em,  mistress,"  he  said,  "  that  he  tried 
to  starve  yer  and  them  kids  —  that  he  wanted  to  leave  yer 
at  Msala  to  be  massacred  by  the  tribes,  only  Mr.  Oscard 
sent  yer  down  'ere.     You'd  better  tell  'em  that." 

"No,"  she  replied,  with  a  faint  smile.  "No,  because  he 
was  my  husband." 


THE    EXTENUATING    CIRCUMSTANCE  293 

Guy  Oscard  was  looking  very  hard  at  Joseph,  and,  catch- 
ing his  eye,  made  a  little  gesture  commanding  silence.  He 
did  not  want  him  to  say  too  much. 

Joseph  turned  away  again  to  the  window,  and  stood  tbus, 
apart,  till  the  end. 

"  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Oscard  to  Marie,  "  that  he  would 
have  sent  some  message  to  you  had  he  been  able ;  but  he 
was  very  ill  —  he  was  dying  —  when  he  reached  Msala.  It 
was  wonderful  that  he  got  there  at  all.  "We  did  what  we 
could  for  him,  but  it  was  hopeless." 

Marie  raised  her  shoulders  with  a  pathetic  gesture  of  res- 
ignation. 

"The  sleeping  sickness,"  she  said,  "what  will  you? 
There  is  no  remedy.  He  always  said  he  would  die  of  that. 
He  feared  it." 

In  the  greater  sorrow  she  seemed  to  have  forgotten  her 
cbild,  who  was  staring  open-eyed  at  the  ceiling.  The  two 
others  —  the  boy  and  girl — were  playing  on  the  door-step 
with  some  unconsidered  trifles  from  the  dust-heap  —  after 
the  manner  of  children  all  the  world  over. 

"  He  was  not  a  good  man,"  said  Marie,  turning  to  Joce- 
lyn,  as  if  she  alone  of  all  present  would  understand.  "  He 
was  not  a  good  husband,  but" — she  shrugged  her  shoulders 
with  one  of  her  patient,  shadowy  smiles — "it  makes  so 
little  difference — yes  2" 

Jocelyn  said  nothing.  None  of  them  had  aught  to  say  to 
her  ;  for  each  in  that  room  could  lay  a  separate  sin  at 
Victor  Durnovo's  door.  He  was  gone  beyond  the  reach  of 
human  justice  to  the  Higher  Court  where  the  Extenuating 
Circumstance  is  fully  understood.  The  generosity  of  that 
silence  was  infectious,  and  they  told  her  nothing.  Had 
they  spoken  she  would  perforce  have  believed  them  ;  but 
then,  as  she  herself  said,  it  would  have  made  "so  little 
difference."  So  Victor  Durnovo  leaves  these  pages,  and 
all  we  can  do  is  to  remember  the  writing  on  the  ground. 
Who  among  us  dares  to  withhold  the  Extenuating  Circunv 


294  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

stance?  Who  is  ready  to  leave  this  world  without  that 
crutch  to  lean  upon  ?  Given  a  mixed  blood— evil  black 
with  evil  white — and  what  can  the  result  be  but  evil  ? 
Given  the  climate  of  Western  Africa  and  the  mental  irrita- 
tion thereof,  added  to  a  lack  of  education  and  the  natural 
vice  inherent  in  man,  and  you  have — Victor  Durnovo. 

Nestorius — the  shameless — -stretched  out  his  little  bare 
limbs  and  turned  half  over  on  his  side.  He  looked  from 
one  face  to  the  other  with  the  grave  wonder  that  was  his. 
He  had  never  been  taken  much  notice  of.  His  short  walk 
in  life  had  been  very  near  the  ground,  where  trifles  look 
very  large,  and  from  whence  those  larger  stumbling-blocks 
which  occupy  our  attention  are  quite  invisible.  He  had  been 
the  third — the  solitary  third  child  who  usually  makes  his  own 
interest  in  life,  and  is  left  by  or  leaves  the  rest  of  his  family. 

It  was  not  quite  clear  to  him  why  he  was  the  centre  of 
so  much  attention.  His  mind  did  not  run  to  the  compre- 
hension of  the  fact  that  he  was  the  wearer  of  borrowed 
plumes — the  sable  plumes  of  King  Death. 

He  had  always  wanted  to  get  on  to  the  kitchen-table — ■ 
there  was  much  there  that  interested  him,  and  supplied  him 
with  food  for  thought.  He  had  risked  his  life  on  more 
than  one  occasion  in  attempts  to  scale  that  height  with  the 
assistance  of  a  saucepan  that  turned  over  and  poured  culi- 
nary delicacies  on  his  toes,  or  perhaps  a  sleeping  cat  that 
got  up  and  walked  away  much  annoyed.  And  now  that  he 
was  at  last  at  this  dizzy  height,  he  was  sorry  to  find  that  he 
was  too  tired  to  crawl  about  and  explore  the  vast  possibili- 
ties of  it.  He  was  rather  too  tired  to  convey  his  forefinger 
to  his  mouth,  and  was  forced  to  work  out  mental  problems 
without  that  aid  to  thought. 

Presently  his  eyes  fell  on  Guy  Oscard's  face,  and  again 
his  own  small  features  expanded  into  a  smile. 

"Bad  case!"  he  said,  and,  turning  over,  he  nestled  down 
into  the  pillow,  and  he  had  the  answer  to  the  many  ques* 
tions  that  puzzled  his  small  brain. 


CHAPTER  XL 
sir  John's  last  card 

"  'Tis  better  playing  with  a  lion's  whelp 
Than  with  an  old  one  dying." 

As  through  an  opera  runs  the  rhythm  of  one  dominant 
air,  so  through  men's  lives  there  rings  a  dominant  note,  soft 
in  youth,  strong  in  manhood,  and  soft  again  in  old  age. 
But  it  is  always  there;  and  whether  soft  in  the  gentler  pe- 
riods, or  strong  amid  the  noise  and  clang  of  the  perihelion, 
it  dominates  always  and  gives  its  tone  to  the  whole  life. 

The  dominant  tone  of  Sir  John  Meredith's  existence  had 
been  the  high,  clear  note  of  battle.  He  had  always  found 
something  or  some  one  to  fight  from  the  very  beginning,  and 
now,  in  his  old  age,  he  was  fighting  still.  His  had  never 
been  the  din  and  crash  of  warfare  by  sword  and  cannon,  but 
the  subtler,  deeper  combat  of  the  pen.  In  his  active  days 
he  had  got  through  a  vast  amount  of  work — that  unchron- 
icled  work  of  the  Foreign  Office  which  never  comes,  through 
the  cheap  newspapers,  to  the  voracious  maw  of  a  chattering 
public.  His  name  was  better  known  on  the  banks  of  the 
Neva,  the  Seine,  the  Bosporus,  or  the  swift -rolling  Iser, 
than  by  the  Thames ;  and  grim  Sir  John  was  content  to 
have  it  so. 

His  face  had  never  been  public  property ;  the  comic  pa- 
pers had  never  used  his  personality  as  a  peg  upon  which  to 
hang  their  ever-changing  political  principles.  But  he  had 
always  been  "  there,"  as  he  himself  vaguely  put  it.  That  is 
to  say,  he  had  always  been  at  the  back — one  of  those  invisi- 
ble powers  of  the  stage  by  whose  command  the  scene  is 
shifted,  the  lights  are  lowered  for  the  tragedj',  or  the  gay 


296  "WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

music  plays  on  the  buffoon.  Sir  John  had  no  sympathy 
with  a  generation  of  men  and  women  who  would  rather  be 
laughed  at  and  despised  than  unnoticed.  He  belonged  to 
an  age  wherein  it  was  held  better  to  be  a  gentleman  than 
the  object  of  a  cheap  and  evanescent  notoriety ;  and  he  was 
at  once  the  despair  and  the  dread  of  newspaper  interview- 
ers, enterprising  publishers,  and  tuft-hunters. 

He  was  so  little  known  out  of  his  own  select  circle  that 
the  porters  in  Euston  Station  asked  each  other  in  vain  who 
the  old  swell  waiting  for  the  four  o'clock  "up"  from  Liver- 
pool could  be.  The  four  o'clock  was,  moreover,  not  the  first 
express  which  Sir  John  had  met  that  day.  His  stately  car- 
riage-and-pair  had  pushed  its  way  into  the  crowd  of  smaller 
and  humbler  vehicular  fry  earlier  in  the  afternoon,  and  on 
that  occasion  also  the  old  gentleman  had  indulged  in  a  grave 
promenade  upon  the  platform. 

He  was  walking  up  and  down  there  now,  with  his  hand 
in  the  small  of  his  back,  where  of  late  he  had  been  aware  of 
a  constant  aching  pain.  He  was  very  upright,  however,  and 
supremely  unconscious  of  the  curiosity  aroused  by  his  pres- 
ence in  the  mind  of  the  station  "  canaille."  His  lips  were 
rather  more  troublesome  than  usual,  and  his  keen  eyes 
twinkled  with  a  suppressed  excitement. 

In  former  days  there  had  been  no  one  equal  to  him  in 
certain  diplomatic  crises,  where  it  was  a  question  of  brow- 
beating suavely  the  uppish  representative  of  some  foreign 
State.  No  man  could  then  rival  him  in  the  insolently  aris- 
tocratic school  of  diplomacy  which  England  has  made  her 
own.  But  in  his  most  dangerous  crisis  he  had  never  been 
restless,  apprehensive,  pessimistic,  as  he  was  at  this  moment. 
And,  after  all,  it  was  a  very  simple  matter  that  had  brought 
him  here.  It  was  merely  the  question  of  meeting  a  man  as 
if  by  accident,  and  then  afterwards  making  that  man  do  cer- 
tain things  required  of  him.  Moreover,  the  man  was  only 
Guy  Oscard — learned,  if  you  will,  in  forest  craft,  but  a  mere 
child  in  the  hands  of  so  old  a  diplomatist  as  Sir  John  Meredith. 


sir  john's  last  card  297 

That  which  made  Sir  John  so  uneasy  was  the  abiding 
knowledge  that  Jack's  wedding-day  would  dawn  in  twelve 
hours.  The  margin  was  much  too  small,  through,  however, 
no  fault  of  Sir  John's.  The  West  African  steamer  had 
been  delayed,  unaccountably,  two  days.  A  third  day  lost 
in  the  Atlantic  would  have  overthrown  Sir  John  Meredith's 
plan.  He  had  often  cut  things  fine  before,  but  somehow 
now — not  that  he  was  getting  old,  oh  no  ! — but  somehow 
the  suspense  was  too  much  for  his  nerves.  He  soon  be- 
came irritated  and  distrustful.  Besides,  the  pain  in  his  back 
wearied  him  and  interfered  with  the  clear  sequence  of  his 
thoughts. 

The  owners  of  the  West  African  steamer  had  telegraphed 
that  the  passengers  had  left  for  London  in  two  separate 
trains.  Guy  Oscard  was  not  in  the  first — there  was  no  pos- 
itive reason  why  he  should  be  in  the  second.  More  depend- 
ed upon  his  being  in  this  second  express  than  Sir  John 
cared  to  contemplate. 

The  course  of  his  peregrinations  brought  him  into  the 
vicinity  of  an  inspector  whose  attitude  betokened  respect 
while  his  presence  raised  hope. 

"  Is  there  any  reason  to  suppose  that  your  train  is  com- 
ing?" he  inquired  of  the  official. 

"  Signalled  now,  my  lord,"  replied  the  inspector,  touching 
his  cap. 

"  And  what  does  that  mean  ?"  uncompromisingly  ignorant 
of  technical  parlance. 

"  It  will  be  in  in  one  minute,  my  lord." 

Sir  John's  hand  was  over  his  lips  as  he  walked  back  to 
the  carriage,  casting  as  it  were  the  commander's  eye  over 
the  field. 

"  When  the  crowd  is  round  the  train  you  come  and  look 
for  me,"  he  said  to  the  footman,  who  touched  his  cockaded 
hat  in  silence. 

At  that  moment  the  train  lumbered  in,  the  engine  wear- 
ing that  inanely  self-important  air  affected  by  locomotives 


298  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

of  the  larger  build.  From  all  quarters  an  army  of  porters 
besieged  the  platform,  and  in  a  few  seconds  Sir  John  was 
in  the  centre  of  an  agitated  crowd.  There  was  one  other 
calm  man  on  that  platform — another  man  with  no  parcels, 
whom  no  one  sought  to  embrace.  His  brown  face  and 
close-cropped  head  towered  above  a  sea  of  agitated  bonnets. 
Sir  John,  whose  walk  in  life  had  been  through  crowds,  el- 
bowed his  way  forward  and  deliberately  walked  against  Guy 
Oscard. 

"  Damn  it !"  he  exclaimed,  turning  round.  "  Ah ! — Mr. 
Oscard — how  d'ye  do  i" 

"  How  are  you?"  replied  Guy  Oscard,  really  glad  to  see 
him. 

"  You  are  a  good  man  for  a  crowd ;  I  think  I  will  follow 
in  your  wake,"  said  Sir  John.  "  A  number  of  people — of 
the  baser  sort.  Got  my  carriage  here  somewhere.  Fool  of 
a  man  looking  for  me  in  the  wrong  place,  no  doubt.  Where 
are  you  going?  May  I  offer  you  a  lift?  This  way.  Here, 
John,  take  Mr.  Oscard's  parcels." 

He  could  not  have  done  it  better  in  his  keenest  day. 
Guy  Oscard  was  seated  in  the  huge,  roomy  carriage  before 
he  had  realized  what  had  happened  to  him. 

"  Your  man  will  look  after  your  traps,  I  suppose  ?"  said 
Sir  John,  hospitably  drawing  the  fur  rug  from  the  opposite 
seat. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Guy,  "  although  he  is  not  my  man.  He 
is  Jack's  man  Joseph." 

"  Ah,  of  course  ;  excellent  servant,  too.  Jack  told  me  he 
had  left  him  with  you." 

Sir  John  leaned  out  of  the  window  and  asked  the  foot- 
man whether  he  knew  his  colleague  Joseph,  and  upon  re- 
ceiving an  answer  in  the  affirmative  he  gave  orders — acting 
as  Guy's  mouth-piece — that  the  luggage  was  to  be  conveyed 
to  Russell  Square.  While  these  orders  were  being  executed 
the  two  men  sat  waiting  in  the  carriage,  and  Sir  John  lost 
no  time. 


SIR    JOHN'S    LAST    CARD  299 

"  I  am  glad,"  he  said,  "  to  have  this  opportunity  of 
thanking  you  for  all  your  kindness  to  my  son  in  this  wild 
expedition  of  yours." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Oscard,  with  a  transparent  reserve  which 
rather  puzzled  Sir  John. 

"  You  must  excuse  me,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  sitting 
rather  stiffly,  "  if  I  appear  to  take  a  somewhat  limited  in- 
terest in  this  great  Simiacine  discovery,  of  which  there  has 
been  considerable  talk  in  some  circles.  The  limit  to  my  in- 
terest is  drawn  by  a  lamentable  ignorance.  I  am  afraid  the 
business  details  are  rather  unintelligible  to  me.  My  son  has 
endeavored,  somewhat  cursorily  perhaps,  to  explain  the 
matter  to  me,  but  I  have  never  mastered  the — er — commer- 
cial technicalities.  However,  I  understand  that  you  have 
made  quite  a  mint  of  money,  which  is  the  chief  considera- 
tion— nowadays." 

He  drew  the  rug  more  closely  round  his  knees  and  looked 
out  of  the  window,  deeply  interested  in  a  dispute  between 
two  cabmen. 

"  Yes  —  we  have  been  very  successful,"  said  Oscard. 
"  How  is  vour  son  now  ?  When  I  last  saw  him  he  was  in  a 
very  bad  way.    Indeed,  I  hardly  expected  to  see  him  again." 

Sir  John  was  still  interested  in  the  dispute  which  was  not 
yet  settled. 

"  He  is  well,  thank  you.  You  know  that  he  is  going  to 
be  married." 

"  He  told  me  that  he  was  engaged,"  replied  Oscard ; 
"  but  I  did  not  know  that  anything  definite  was  fixed." 

"  The  most  definite  thing  of  all  is  fixed — the  date.  It  is 
to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  ?" 

"Yes.  You  have  not  much  time  to  prepare  your  wed- 
ding garments." 

"  Oh,"  replied  Oscard,  with  a  laugh,  "  I  have  not  been 
bidden." 

"I  expect  the  invitation  is  awaiting  you  at  your  house 


300  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

No  doubt  my  son  will  want  yon  to  be  present — tbey  would 
botb  like  you  to  be  there  no  doubt.  But  come  with  me 
now  :  we  will  call  and  see  Jack.  I  know  where  to  find  him. 
In  fact,  I  have  an  appointment  with  him  at  a  quarter  to 
five." 

It  may  seem  strange  that  Guy  Oscard  should  not  have 
asked  the  name  of  his  friend's  prospective  bride,  but  Sir 
John  was  ready  for  that.  He  gave  his  companion  no  time. 
Whenever  he  opened  his  lips  Sir  John  turned  Oscard's 
thoughts  aside. 

What  he  had  told  him  was  strictly  true.  He  had  an  ap- 
pointment with  Jack — an  appointment  of  his  own  making. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  in  pursuance  of  his  policy  of  choking 
questions,  "  he  is  wonderfully  well,  as  you  will  see  for  your- 
self." 

Oscard  submitted  silently  to  this  high-handed  arrange- 
ment. He  had  not  known  Sir  John  well.  Indeed,  all  his 
intercourse  with  him  has  been  noted  in  these  pages.  He 
was  rather  surprised  to  find  him  so  talkative  and  so  very 
friendly.  But  Guy  Oscard  was  not  a  very  deep  person. 
He  was  sublimely  indifferent  to  the  Longdrawn  Motive. 
He  presumed  that  Sir  John  made  friends  of  his  son's 
friends ;  and  in  his  straightforward  acceptance  of  facts  he 
was  perfectly  well  aware  that  by  his  timely  rescue  he  had 
saved  Jack  Meredith  from  the  hands  of  the  tribes.  The 
presumption  was  that  Sir  John  knew  of  this,  and  it  was 
only  natural  that  he  should  be  somewhat  exceptionally 
gracious  to  the  man  who  had  saved  his  son's  life. 

It  would  seem  that  Sir  John  divined  these  thoughts,  for 
he  presently  spoke  of  them. 

"Owing  to  an  unfortunate  difference  of  opinion  with  my 
son  we  have  not  been  very  communicative  lately,"  he  said, 
with  that  deliberation  which  he  knew  how  to  assume  when 
he  desired  to  be  heard  without  interruption.  "  I  am  there- 
fore almost  entirely  ignorant  of  your  African  affairs,  but  I 
imagine  Jack  owes  more  to  your  pluck  and  promptness 


sir  john's  last  card  301 

than  has  yet  transpired.  I  gathered  as  much  from  one  or 
two  conversations  I  had  with  Miss  Gordon  when  she  was  in 
England.     I  am  one  of  Miss  Gordon's  many  admirers." 

"  And  I  am  another,"  said  Oscard,  frankly. 

"  Ah  !  Then  you  are  happy  enough  to  be  the  object  of 
a  reciprocal  feeling  which  for  myself  I  could  scarcely  ex- 
pect. She  spoke  of  you  in  no  measured  language.  I  gath- 
ered from  her  that  if  you  had  not  acted  with  great  prompti- 
tude the — er — happy  event  of  to-morrow  could  not  have 
taken  place." 

The  old  man  paused,  and  Guy  Oscard,  who  looked  some- 
what distressed  and  distinctly  uncomfortable,  could  find  no 
graceful  way  of  changing  the  conversation. 

"  In  a  word,"  went  on  Sir  John,  in  a  very  severe  tone,  "  I 
owe  you  a  great  debt.     You  saved  my  boy's  life." 

"  Yes,  but  you  see,"  argued  Oscard,  finding  his  tongue  at 
last,  "out  there  things  like  that  don't  count  for  so  much." 

"  Oh  —  don't  they  ?"  There  was  the  suggestion  of  a 
smile  beneath  Sir  John's  grim  eyebrows. 

"  No,"  returned  Oscard,  rather  lamely,  "  it  is  a  sort  of 
thing  that  happens  every  day  out  there." 

Sir  John  turned  suddenly,  and  with  the  courtliness  that 
was  ever  his  he  indulged  in  a  rare  exhibition  of  feeling. 
He  laid  his  hand  on  Guy  Oscard's  stalwart  knee. 

"My  dear  Oscard,"  he  said,  and  when  he  chose  he  could 
render  his  voice  very  soft  and  affectionate,  "  none  of  those 
arguments  apply  to  me  because  I  am  not  out  there.  I  like 
you  for  trying  to  make  little  of  your  exploit.  Such  conduct 
is  worthy  of  you — worthy  of  a  gentleman — but  you  cannot 
disguise  the  fact  that  Jack  owes  his  life  to  you  and  I  owe 
you  the  same,  which,  between  you  and  me  I  may  mention, 
is  more  valuable  to  me  than  my  own.  I  want  you  to  re- 
member always  that  I  am  your  debtor,  and  if — if  circum- 
stances should  ever  seem  to  indicate  that  the  feeling  I  have 
for  you  is  anything  but  friendly  and  kind,  do  me  the  honor 
of  disbelieving  those  indications — you  understand?" 


302  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  Yes,"  replied  Oscard,  untruthfully. 

"  Here  we  are  at  Lady  Cantourne's,"  continued  Sir  John, 
"  where,  as  it  happens,  I  expect  to  meet  Jack.  Her  lady- 
ship is  naturally  interested  in  the  affair  of  to-morrow,  and 
has  kindly  undertaken  to  keep  us  up  to  date  in  our  be- 
havior.    You  will  come  in  with  me?" 

Oscard  remembered  afterwards  that  he  was  rather  puzzled 
— that  there  was  perhaps  in  his  simple  mind  the  faintest 
tinge  of  a  suspicion.  At  the  moment,  however,  there  was 
no  time  to  do  anything  but  follow.  The  man  had  already 
rung  the  bell,  and  Lady  Cantourne's  butler  was  holding  the 
door  open.  There  was  something  in  his  attitude  vaguely 
suggestive  of  expectation.  He  never  took  his  eyes  from  Sir 
John  Meredith's  face,  as  if  on  the  alert  for  an  unspoken 
order. 

Guy  Oscard  followed  his  companion  into  the  hall,  and 
the  very  scent  of  the  house — for  each  house  speaks  to  more 
senses  than  one — made  his  heart  leap  in  his  broad  breast. 
It  seemed  as  if  Millicent's  presence  was  in  the  very  air. 
This  was  more  than  he  could  have  hoped.  He  had  not  in- 
tended to  call  this  afternoon,  although  the  visit  was  only  to 
have  been  postponed  for  twenty-four  hours. 

Sir  John  Meredith's  face  was  a  marvel  to  see.  It  was 
quite  steady.  He  was  upright  and  alert,  with  all  the  in- 
trepidity of  his  mind  up  in  arms.  There  was  a  light  in  his 
eyes — a  gleam  of  light  from  other  days,  not  yet  burned  out. 

He  laid  aside  his  gold-headed  cane  and  threw  back  his 
shoulders. 

"  Is  Mr.  Meredith  up-stairs  ?"  he  said  to  the  butler. 

"  Yes— sir." 

The  man  moved  towards  the  stairs. 

"  You  need  not  come !"  said  Sir  John,  holding  up  his 
hand. 

The  butler  stood  aside  and  Sir  John  led  the  way  up  to 
the  drawing-room. 

At  the  door  he  paused  for  a  moment.     Guy  Oscard  was 


A   TROIS  303 

at  his  heels.  Then  he  opened  the  door  rather  slowly,  and 
motioned  gracefully  with  his  left  hand  to  Oscard  to  pass  in 
before  hiin. 

Oscard  stepped  forward.  When  he  had  crossed  the 
threshold  Sir  John  closed  the  door  sharply  behind  him  and 
turned  to  go  down-stairs. 


CHAPTER  XLI 
A   TROIS 

"  Men  serve  women  kneeling :  when  they  get  on  their  feet  they  go 
away." 

Guy  Oscard  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  threshold.  He 
heard  the  door  closed  behind  him,  and  he  took  two  steps 
farther  forward. 

Jack  Meredith  and  Millicent  were  at  the  fireplace.  There 
was  a  heap  of  disordered  paper  and  string  upon  the  table, 
and  a  few  wedding  presents  standing  in  the  midst  of  their 
packing. 

Millicent's  pretty  face  was  quite  white.  She  looked  from 
Meredith  to  Oscard  with  a  sudden  horror  in  her  eyes.  For 
the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was  at  a  loss — quite  taken 
aback. 

"  Oh — h  I"  she  whispered,  and  that  was  all. 

The  silence  that  followed  was  tense,  as  if  something  in 
the  atmosphere  was  about  to  snap ;  and  in  the  midst  of  it 
the  wheels  of  Sir  John's  retreating  carriage  came  to  the  cars 
of  the  three  persons  in  the  drawing-room. 

It  was  only  for  a  moment,  but  in  that  moment  the  two 
men  saw  clearly.  It  was  as  if  the  veil  from  the  girl's  mind 
had  fallen  —  leaving-  her  thoughts  confessed,  bare  before 
them.     In  the  same  instant  they  both  saw — they  both  sped 


304  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

back  in  thought  to  their  first  meeting,  to  the  hundred  links 
of  the  chain  that  brought  them  to  the  present  moment — 
they  knew ;  and  Millicent  felt  that  they  knew. 

"  Are  you  going  to  be  married  to-morrow  ?"  asked  Guy 
Oscard,  deliberately.  He  never  was  a  man  to  whom  a  suc- 
cessful appeal  for  the  slightest  mitigation  of  justice  could 
have  been  made.  His  dealings  had  ever  been  with  men, 
from  whom  he  had  exacted  as  scrupulous  an  honor  as  he 
had  given.  He  did  not  know  that  women  are  different — 
that  honor  is  not  their  strong  point. 

Millicent  did  not  answer.  She  looked  to  Meredith  to 
answer  for  her  ;  but  Meredith  was  looking  at  Oscard,  and 
in  his  lazy  eyes  there  glowed  the  singular  affection  and  ad- 
miration which  he  had  bestowed  long  time  before  on  this 
simple  gentleman — his  mental  inferior. 

"  Are  you  going  to  be  married  to-morrow  ?"  repeated  Os- 
card, standing  quite  still,  with  a  calmness  that  frightened  her. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  rather  feebly. 

She  knew  that  she  could  explain  it  all.  She  could  have 
explained  it  to  either  of  them  separately,  but  to  both  to- 
gether, somehow  it  was  difficult.  Her  mind  was  filled  with 
clamoring  arguments  and  explanations  and  plausible  ex- 
cuses ;  but  she  did  not  know  which  to  select  first.  None 
of  them  seemed  quite  equal  to  this  occasion.  These  men 
required  something  deeper,  and  stronger,  and  simpler  than 
she  had  to  offer  them. 

Moreover,  she  was  paralyzed  by  a  feeling  that  was  quite 
new  to  her — a  horrid  feeling  that  something  had  gone  from 
her.  She  had  lost  her  strongest,  her  single  arm  :  her  beauty. 
This  seemed  to  have  fallen  from  her.  It  seemed  to  count 
for  nothing  at  this  time.  There  is  a  time  that  comes  as 
surely  as  death  will  come  in  the  life  of  every  beautiful 
woman — a  time  wherein  she  suddenly  realizes  how  trivial  a 
thing  her  beauty  is  —  how  limited,  how  useless,  how  in- 
effectual ! 

Millicent  Chyne  made  a  little  appealing  movement  tow- 


A   TROIS  305 

ards  Meredith,  who  relentlessly  stepped  back.  It  was  the 
magic  of  the  love  that  filled  his  heart  for  Oscard.  Had 
she  wronged  any  man  in  the  world  but  Guy  Oscard,  that 
little  movement — full  of  love  and  tenderness  and  sweet  con- 
trition— might  have  saved  her.  But  it  was  Oscard's  heart 
that  she  had  broken ;  for  broken  they  both  knew  it  to  be, 
and  Jack  Meredith  stepped  back  from  her  touch  as  from 
pollution.  His  superficial,  imagined  love  for  her  had  been 
killed  at  a  single  blow.  Her  beauty  was  no  more  to  him 
at  that  moment  than  the  beauty  of  a  picture. 

"  Oh,  Jack !"  she  gasped ;  and  had  there  been  another 
woman  in  the  room  that  woman  would  have  known  that 
Millicent  loved  him  with  the  love  that  comes  once  only. 
But  men  are  not  very  acute  in  such  matters — they  either 
read  wrong  or  not  at  all. 

"It  is  all  a  mistake,"  she  said,  breathlessly,  looking  from 
one  to  the  other. 

"A  most  awkward  mistake,"  suggested  Meredith,  with  a 
cruel  smile  that  made  her  wince. 

"  Mr.  Oscard  must  have  mistaken  me  altogether,"  the 
girl  went  on,  volubly  addressing  herself  to  Meredith — she 
wanted  nothing  from  Oscard.  "  I  may  have  been  silly,  per- 
haps, or  merely  ignorant  and  blind.  How  was  I  to  know 
that  he  meant  what  he  said?" 

"How,  indeed?"  agreed  Meredith,  with  a  grave  bow. 

"Besides,  he  has  no  business  to  come  here  bringing  false 
accusations  against  me.  He  has  no  right — it  is  cruel  and 
ungentlemanly.  He  cannot  prove  anything ;  he  cannot  say 
that  I  ever  distinctly  gave  him  to  understand — er,  anything 
— that  I  ever  promised  to  be  engaged,  or  anything  like  that." 

She  turned  upon  Oscard,  whose  demeanor  was  stolid,  al- 
most dense.  He  looked  very  large  and  somewhat  difficult 
to  move. 

'"  He  has  not  attempted  to  do  so  yet,"  suggested  Jack, 
suavely,  looking  at  his  friend. 

"  I  do  not  see  that  it  is  quite  a  question  of  proofs,"  said 


306  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Oscard  quietly,  in  a  voice  that  did  not  sound  like  his  at  all. 
"  We  are  not  in  a  court  of  justice,  where  ladies  like  to  settle 
these  questions  now.  If  we  were  I  could  challenge  you  to  pro- 
duce ray  letters.    There  is  no  doubt  of  my  meaning  in  them." 

"  There  are  also  my  poor  contributions  to — your  collec- 
tion," chimed  in  Jack  Meredith.  "  A  comparison  must  have 
been  interesting  to  you,  by  the  same  mail  presumably,  un- 
der the  same  postmark." 

"  I  made  no  comparison,"  the  girl  cried,  defiantly ;  "  there 
was  no  question  of  comparison." 

She  said  it  shamelessly,  and  it  hurt  Meredith  more  than 
it  hurt  Guy  Oscard,  for  whom  the  sting  was  intended. 

"  Comparison  or  no  comparison,"  said  Jack  Meredith, 
quickly,  with  the  keenness  of  a  good  fencer  who  has  been 
touched,  "  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  fact  that  you  were 
engaged  to  us  both  at  the  same  time.  You  told  us  both  to  go 
out  and  make  a  fortune  wherewith  to  buy — your  affections. 
One  can  only  presume  that  the  highest  bidder — the  owner 
of  the  largest  fortune — was  to  be  the  happy  man.  Unfort- 
unately we  became  partners,  and — such  was  the  power  of 
your  fascination — we  made  the  fortune,  but  we  share  and 
share  alike  in  that.  "We  are  equal,  so  far  as  the — price  is 
concerned.  The  situation  is  interesting  and  rather — amus- 
ing. It  is  your  turn  to  move.  We  await  your  further  in- 
structions in  considerable  suspense." 

She  stared  at  him  with  bloodless  lips.  She  did  not  seem 
to  understand  what  he  was  saying.  At  last  she  spoke,  ig- 
noring Guy  Oscard's  presence  altogether. 

"  Considering  that  we  are  to  be  married  to-morrow,  I  do 
not  think  that  you  should  speak  to  me  like  that,"  she  said, 
with  a  strange,  concentrated  eagerness. 

"  Pardon  me,  we  are  not  going  to  be  married  to-morrow." 

Her  brilliant  teeth  closed  on  her  lower  lip  with  a  snap, 
and  she  stood  looking  at  him,  breathing  so  hard  that  the 
sound  was  almost  a  sob. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  whispered,  hoarsely. 


A    TR0I8  307 

He  raised  his  shoulders  in  polite  surprise  at  her  dulness 
of  comprehension. 

"  In  the  unfortunate  circumstances  in  which  you  are 
placed,"  he  explained,  "  it  seems  to  me  that  the  least  one 
can  do  is  to  offer  every  assistance  in  one's  power.  Please 
consider  me  hors  de  concours.     In  a  word — I  scratch." 

She  gasped  like  a  swimmer  swimming  for  life.  She  was 
fio-htinec  for  that  which  some  deem  dearer  than  life — name- 
ly,  her  love.  For  it  is  not  only  the  good  women  who 
love,  though  these  understand  it  best  and  see  further  into  it. 

"  Then  you  can  never  have  cared  for  me,"  she  cried ;  "  all 
that  you  have  told  me  " — and  her  eyes  flashed  triumphantly 
across  Oscard — "  all  that  you  promised  and  vowed  was  utter- 
ly false,  if  you  turn  against  me  at  the  first  word  of  a  man 
who  was  carried  away  by  his  own  vanity  into  thinking 
things  that  he  had  no  business  to  think." 

If  Guy  Oscard  was  no  great  adept  at  wordy  warfare,  he 
was  at  all  events  strong  in  his  reception  of  punishment. 
He  stood  upright  and  quiescent,  betraying  by  neither  sign 
nor  movement  that  her  words  could  hurt  him. 

"  I  beg  to  suggest  again,"  said  Jack,  composedly,  "  that 
Oscard  has  not  yet  brought  any  accusations  against  you. 
You  have  brought  them  all  yourself." 

"  You  are  both  cruel  and  cowardly,"  she  exclaimed,  sud- 
denly descending  to  vituperation.  "  Two  to  one.  Two 
men — gentlemen — against  <one  defenceless  girl.  Of  course  I 
am  not  able  to  argue  with  you.  Of  course  you  can  get  the 
best  of  me.     It  is  so  easy  to  be  sarcastic." 

"  I  do  not  imagine,"  retorted  Jack,  "  that  anything  that 
we  can  say  or  do  will  have  much  permanent  power  of  hurt- 
ing you.  For  the  last  two  years  you  have  been  engaged  in 
an  —  intrigue  such  as  a  thin-skinned  or  sensitive  person 
would  hardly  of  her  own  free  will  undertake.  You  may  be 
able  to  explain  it  to  yourself — no  doubt  you  are — but  to 
our  more  limited  comprehensions  it  must  remain  inexplicable. 
We  can  only  judge  from  appearances." 


308  WITH   EDGED    TOOLS 

"  And,  of  course,  appearances  go  against  me — they  always 
do  against  a  woman,"  she  cried,  rather  brokenly. 

"  You  would  have  been  wise  to  have  taken  that  peculiarity 
into  consideration  sooner,"  replied  Jack  Meredith,  coldly. 
"  I  admit  that  I  am  puzzled ;  I  cannot  quite  get  at  your 
motive.  Presumably  it  is  one  of  those — sweet  feminine  in- 
consistencies which  are  so  charming  in  books." 

There  was  a  little  pause.  Jack  Meredith  waited  politely 
to  hear  if  she  had  anything  further  to  say.  His  clean-cut 
face  was  quite  pallid  ;  the  suppressed  anger  in  his  eyes  was 
perhaps  more  difficult  to  meet  than  open  fury.  The  man 
who  never  forgets  himself  before  a  woman  is  likely  to  be 
an  absolute  master  of  women. 

"  I  think,"  he  added,  "  that  there  is  nothing  more  to  be 
said." 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Millicent  Chyne  glanced  tow- 
ards Guy  Oscard.  He  could  have  saved  her  yet — by  a  sim- 
ple lie.  Had  he  been  an  impossibly  magnanimous  man, 
such  as  one  meets  in  books  only,  he  could  have  explained 
that  the  mistake  was  all  his,  that  she  was  quite  right,  that 
his  own  vanity  had  blinded  him  into  a  great  and  unwar- 
ranted presumption.  But,  unfortunately,  he  was  only  a  hu- 
man being — a  man  who  was  ready  to  give  as  full  a  measure 
as  he  exacted.  The  unfortunate  mistake  to  which  he  cluno- 
was  that  the  same  sense  of  justice,  the  same  code  of  honor, 
must  serve  for  men  and  women  alike.  So  Millicent  Chyne 
looked  in  vain  for  that  indulgence  which  is  so  inconsistently 
offered  to  women,  merely  because  they  are  women — the  in- 
dulgence which  is  sometimes  given  and  sometimes  withheld, 
according  to  the  softness  of  the  masculine  heart  and  the 
beauty  of  the  suppliant  feminine  form.  Guy  Oscard  was 
quite  sure  of  his  own  impressions.  This  girl  had  allowed 
him  to  begin  loving  her,  had  encouraged  him  to  go  on,  had 
led  him  to  believe  that  his  love  was  returned.  And  in  his 
simple  ignorance  of  the  world  he  did  not  see  why  these 
matters  should  be  locked  up  in  his  own  breast  from  a  mis' 


A  trois  309 

taken  sense  of  chivalry  to  be  accorded  where  no  chivalry 
was  due. 

"  No,"  he  answered.    "  There  is  nothing  more  to  be  said." 

Without  looking  towards  her,  Jack  Meredith  made  a  few 
steps  towards  the  door — quietly,  self-composedly,  with  that 
perfect  savoir /aire  of  the  social  expert  that  made  him  dif- 
ferent from  other  men.  Millicent  Chyne  felt  a  sudden  ple- 
beian desire  to  scream.  It  was  all  so  heartlessly  well-bred. 
He  turned  on  his  heel  with  a  little  half-cynical  bow. 

"  I  leave  my  name  with  you,"  he  said.  "  It  is  probable 
that  you  will  be  put  to  some  inconvenience.  I  can  only  re- 
gret that  this — denouement  did  not  come  some  months  ago. 
You  are  likely  to  suffer  more  than  I,  because  I  do  not  care 
what  the  world  thinks  of  me.  Therefore  you  may  tell  the 
world  what  you  choose  about  me  —  that  I  drink,  that  I 
gamble,  that  I  am  lacking  in — honor !  Anything  that  sug- 
gests itself  to  you,  in  fact.  You  need  not  go  away ;  /  will 
do  that." 

She  listened  with  compressed  lips  and  heaving  shoulders ; 
and  the  bitterest  drop  in  her  cup  was  the  knowledge  that 
he  despised  her.  During  the  last  few  minutes  he  had  said 
and  done  nothing  that  lowered  him  in  her  estimation — that 
touched  in  any  way  her  love  for  him.  He  had  not  lowered 
himself  in  any  way,  but  he  had  suavely  trodden  her  under 
foot.  His  last  words — the  inexorable  intention  of  going 
away — sapped  her  last  lingering  hope.  She  could  never  re- 
gain even  a  tithe  of  his  affection. 

"  I  think,"  he  went  on,  "  that  you  will  agree  with  me  in 
thinking  that  Guy  Oscard's  name  must  be  kept  out  of  this 
entirely.     I  give  you  carte  blanche  except  that." 

With  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head  he  walked  to  the 
door.  It  was  characteristic  of  him  that  although  he  walked 
slowly  he  never  turned  his  head  nor  paused. 

Oscard  followed  him  with  the  patient  apathy  of  the 
large  and  mystified. 

And  so  they  left  her  —  amid  the  disorder  of  the  half- 


310  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

unpacked  wedding  presents  —  amid  the  ruin  of  her  own 
life.  Perhaps,  after  all,  she  was  not  wholly  bad.  Few 
people  are ;  they  are  only  bad  enough  to  be  wholly  unsat- 
isfactory and  quite  incomprehensible.  She  must  have 
known  the  risk  she  was  running,  and  yet  she  could  not 
stay  her  hand.  She  must  have  known  long  before  that  she 
really  loved  Jack  Meredith,  and  that  she  was  playing  fast 
and  loose  with  the  happiness  of  her  whole  life.  She  knew 
that  hundreds  of  girls  around  her  were  doing  the  same,  and, 
with  all  shame  be  it  mentioned,  not  a  few  married  women. 
But  they  seemed  to  be  able  to  carry  it  through  without  ac- 
cident or  hinderance.  And  illogically,  thoughtlessly,  she 
blamed  her  own  ill-fortune. 

She  stood  looking  blankly  at  the  door  which  had  closed 
behind  three  men — one  old  and  two  young — and  perhaps 
she  realized  the  fact  that  such  creatures  may  be  led  blindly, 
helplessly,  with  a  single  hair,  but  that  that  hair  may  snap 
at  any  moment. 

She  was  not  thinking  of  Guy  Oscard.  Him  she  had 
never  loved.  He  had  only  been  one  of  her  experiments, 
and  by  his  very  simplicity  —  above  all,  by  his  uncompro> 
mising  honesty — he  had  outwitted  her. 

It  was  characteristic  of  her  that  at  that  moment  she 
scarcely  knew  the  weight  of  her  own  remorse.  It  sat  light- 
ly on  her  shoulders  then,  and  it  was  only  later  on,  when 
her  beauty  began  to  fade,  when  years  came  and  brought  no 
joy  for  the  middle-aged  unmarried  woman,  that  she  began 
to  realize  what  it  was  that  she  had  to  carry  through  life 
with  her.  At  that  moment  a  thousand  other  thoughts  filled 
her  mind—such  thoughts  as  one  would  expect  to  find  there. 
How  was  the  world  to  be  deceived?  The  guests  would 
have  to  be  put  off — the  wedding  countermanded — the  pres- 
ents returned.  And  the  world — her  world — would  laugh 
in  its  sleeve ;  there  lay  the  sting. 


CHAPTER    XLII 
A    STRONG    FRIENDSHIP 

"Still  must  the  man  move  sadlier  for  the  dreams 
That  mocked  the  boy" 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  Meredith,  when  they 
were  in  the  street. 

"  Home." 

They  walked  on  a  few  paces  together. 

"  May  I  come  with  you  ?"  asked  Meredith,  again. 

"  Certainly ;  I  have  a  good  deal  to  tell  you." 

They  called  a  cab,  and  singularly  enough  they  drove  all 
the  way  to  Russell  Square  without  speaking.  These  two 
men  had  worked  together  for  many  months,  and  men  who 
have  a  daily  task  in  common  usually  learn  to  perform  it 
without  much  interchange  of  observation.  When  one  man 
gets  to  know  the  mind  of  another,  conversation  assumes 
a  place  of  secondary  importance.  These  two  had  been 
through  more  incidents  together  than  usually  fall  to  the  lot 
of  man — each  knew  how  the  other  would  act  and  think 
under  given  circumstances  ;  each  knew  what  the  other  was 
thinking  now. 

The  house  in  Russell  Square,  the  quiet  house  in  the  cor- 
ner where  the  cabs  do  not  pass,  was  lighted  up  and  astir 
when  they  reached  it.  The  old  butler  held  open  the  door 
with  a  smile  of  welcome  and  a  faint  aroma  of  whiskey. 
The  luggage  had  been  discreetly  removed.  Joseph  had 
gone  to  Mr.  Meredith's  chambers.  Guy  Oscard  led  the  wa}T 
to  the  smoking-room  at  the  back  of  the  house — the  room 
wherein  the  eccentric  Oscard  had  written  his  great  history 


312  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

— the  room  in  which  Victor  Durnov-"  had  first  suggested 
the  Simiacine  scheme  to  the  historian's  son. 

The  two  survivors  of  the  originating  trio  passed  into 
this  room  together,  and  closed  the  door  behind  them. 

"  The  worst  of  one's  own  private  tragedies  is  that  they 
are  usually  only  comedies  in  disguise,"  said  Jack  Meredith, 
oracularly. 

Guy  Oscard  grunted.     He  was  looking  for  his  pipe. 

"  If  we  heard  this  of  any  two  fellows  except  ourselves 
we  should  think  it  an  excellent  joke,"  went  on  Meredith. 

Oscard  nodded.  He  lighted  his  pipe,  and  still  he  said 
nothing. 

"  Hang  it !"  exclaimed  Jack  Meredith,  suddenly  throwing 
himself  back  in  his  chair,  "  it  is  a  good  joke." 

He  laughed  softly,  and  all  the  while  his  eyes,  watchful, 
wise,  anxious,  were  studying  Guy  Oscard's  face. 

"  He  is  harder  hit  than  I  am,"  he  was  reflecting.  "  Poor 
old  Oscard !" 

The  habit  of  self-suppression  was  so  strong  upon  him — 
acquired  as  a  mere  social  duty — that  it  was  only  natural  for 
him  to  think  less  of  himself  than  of  the  expediency  of  the 
moment.  The  social  discipline  is  as  powerful  an  agent  as 
that  military  discipline  that  makes  a  man  throw  away  his 
own  life  for  the  good  of  the  many. 

Oscard  laughed,  too,  in  a  strangely  staccato  manner. 

"It  is  rather  a  sudden  change,"  observed  Meredith;  "and 
all  brought  about  by  your  coming  into  that  room  at  that 
particular  moment — by  accident." 

"Not  by  accident,"  corrected  Oscard,  speaking  at  last. 
"  I  was  brought  there  and  pushed  into  the  room." 

"  By  whom  ?" 

"  By  your  father." 

Jack  Meredith  sat  upright.  He  drew  his  curved  hand 
slowly  down  over  his  face — keen  and  delicate  as  was  his 
mind — his  eyes  deep  with  thought. 

"  The  guv'nor,"  he  said,  slowly.    "  The  guv'nor— by  God  f 


A    STRONG    FRIENDSHIP  313 

He  reflected  for  some  seconds. 

"  Tell  me  how  be  did  it,"  he  said,  curtly. 

Oscard  told  him,  rather  incoherently,  between  the  puffs. 
lie  did  not  attempt  to  make  a  story  of  it,  but  merely  re- 
lated the  facts  as  they  had  happened  to  him.  It  is  proba- 
ble that  to  him  the  act  was  veiled  which  Jack  saw  quite  dis- 
tinctly. 

"  That  is  the  sort  of  thing"  was  Meredith's  comment 
when  the  story  was  finished,  "  that  takes  the  conceit  out  of 
a  fellow.  I  suppose  I  have  more  than  my  share.  I  sup- 
pose it  is  good  for  me  to  find  that  I  am  not  so  clever  as  I 
thought  I  was  —  that  there  are  plenty  of  cleverer  fellows 
about,  and  that  one  of  them  is  an  old  man  of  seventy-nine. 
The  worst  of  it  is  that  he  was  right  all  along.  He  saw 
clearly  where  you  and  I  were — damnably  blind." 

He  rubbed  his  slim  brown  hands  together,  and  looked 
across  at  his  companion  with  a  smile  wherein  the  youthful 
self-confidence  was  less  discernible  than  of  yore.  The 
smile  faded  as  he  looked  at  Oscard.  He  was  thinking  that 
he  looked  older  and  graver — more  of  a  middle-aged  man 
who  has  left  something  behind  him  in  life — and  the  sights 
reminded  him  of  the  few  gray  hairs  that  were  above  his 
own  temples. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  more  cheerfully,  "  tell  me  your  news. 
Let  us  change  the  subject.  Let  us  throw  aside  light  dal- 
liance and  return  to  questions  of  money.  More  important — 
much  more  satisfactory.  I  suppose  you  have  left  Durnovo 
in  charge?     Has  Joseph  come  home  with  you?" 

"  Yes,  Joseph  has  come  home  with  me.  Durnovo  i3 
dead." 

"  Dead  !" 

Guy  Oscard  took  his  pipe  from  his  lips. 

"  He  died  at  Msala  of  the  sleeping  sickness.  He  was  a 
bigger  blackguard  than  we  thought.  He  was  a  slave-dealer 
and  a  slave-owner.  Those  forty  men  we  picked  up  at  Msala 
were  slaves  belonging  to  him." 


314  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  Ach  !"  It  was  a  strange  exclamation,  as  if  he  had 
burned  his  fingers.  "  Who  knows  of  this  ?"  he  asked,  im- 
mediately. The  expediency  of  the  moment  had  presented 
itself  to  his  mind  again. 

"  Only  ourselves,"  returned  Oscard.    "  You,  Joseph,  and  I." 

"That  is  all  right,  and  the  sooner  we  forget  that  the 
better.     It  would  be  a  dangerous  story  to  tell." 

"  So  I  concluded,"  said  Oscard,  in  his  slow,  thoughtful 
way.     "Joseph  swears  he  won't  breathe  a  word  of  it." 

Jack  Meredith  nodded.  He  looked  rather  pale  beneath 
the  light  of  the  gas. 

"  Joseph  is  all  right,"  he  said.     "  Go  on." 

"  It  was  Joseph  who  found  it  out,"  continued  Oscard, 
"up  at  the  Plateau.  I  paraded  the  whole  crowd,  told  them 
what  I  had  found  out,  and  chucked  up  the  whole  concern  in 
your  name  and  mine.  Next  morning  I  abandoned  the  Pla- 
teau with  such  men  as  cared  to  come.  Nearly  half  of  them 
stayed  with  Durnovo.  I  thought  it  was  in  order  that  they 
might  share  in  the  Simiacine — I  told  them  they  could  have 
the  whole  confounded  lot  of  the  stuff.  But  it  was  not 
that;  they  tricked  Durnovo  there.  They  wanted  to  get 
him  to  themselves.  In  going  down  the  river  we  had  an  ac- 
cident with  two  of  the  boats,  which  necessitated  staying  at 
Msala.  While  we  were  waiting  there,  one  night  after  ten 
o'clock  the  poor  devil  came,  alone,  in  a  canoe.  They  had 
simply  cut  him  in  slices — a  most  beastly  sight.  I  wake  up 
sometimes  even  now  dreaming  of  it,  and  I  am  not  a  fanciful 
sort  of  fellow.  Joseph  went  into  his  room  and  was  simply 
sick;  I  didn't  know  that  you  could  be  made  sick  by  any- 
thing you  saw.  The  sleeping  sickness  was  on  Durnovo 
then  ;  he  had  brought  it  with  him  from  the  Plateau.  He 
died  before  morning." 

Oscard  ceased  speaking  and  returned  to  his  pipe.  Jack 
Meredith,  looking  haggard  and  worn,  was  leaning  back  in 
his  chair. 

"  Poor  devil !"  he  exclaimed.     "  There  was  always  some- 


A    STRONG    FRIENDSHIP  315 

thing  tragic  about  Durnovo.  I  did  hate  that  man,  Oscard ! 
I  hated  him  and  all  his  works." 

"  Well,  he's  gone  to  his  account  now. 

"  Yes,  but  that  does  not  make  him  any  better  a  man 
while  he  was  alive.  Don't  let  us  cant  about  him  now. 
The  man  was  an  unmitigated  scoundrel  —  perhaps  he  de- 
served all  he  got. 

"Perhaps  he  did.     He  was  Marie's  husband." 

"  The  devil  he  was !" 

Meredith  fell  into  a  long  reverie.  He  was  thinking  of 
Jocelyn  and  her  dislike  for  Durnovo,  of  the  scene  in  the 
drawing-room,  of  the  bungalow  at  Loango ;  of  a  thousand 
incidents  all  connected  with  Jocelyn. 

"  How  I  hate  that  man !"  he  exclaimed,  at  length.  "  Thank 
God — he  is  dead — because  I  should  have  killed  him." 

Guy  Oscard  looked  at  him  with  a  slow,  pensive  wonder. 
Perhaps  he  knew  more  than  Jack  Meredith  knew  himself  of 
the  thoughts  that  conceived  those  words — so  out  of  place  in 
that  quiet  room  from  those  suave  and  courtly  lips. 

All  the  emotions  of  his  life  seemed  to  be  concentrated 
into  this  one  day  of  Jack  Meredith's  existence.  Oscard's 
presence  was  a  comfort  to  him — the  presence  of  a  calm, 
strong  man  is  better  than  many  words. 

"  So  this,"  he  said,  "  is  the  end  of  the  Simiacine.  It  did 
not  look  like  a  tragedy  when  we  went  into  it." 

"  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  replied  Oscard,  with  quiet 
determination,  "  it  certainly  is  the  end  of  the  Simiacine  !  I 
have  had  enough  of  it.  I,  for  one,  am  not  going  to  look 
for  that  Plateau  aorain." 

"  Nor  I.  I  suppose  it  will  be  started  as  a  limited  liability 
company  by  a  German  in  six  months.  Some  of  the  natives 
will  leave  landmarks  as  they  come  down  so  as  to  find  their 
way  back." 

"  I  don't  think  so !" 

"Why?" 

Oscard  took  his  pipe  from  his  lips, 


316  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  When  Durnovo  came  down  to  Msala,"  he  explained, 
"  he  had  the  sleeping  sickness  on  him.  Where  did  he  get 
it  from  ?" 

"  By  God  !"  ejaculated  Jack  Meredith,  "  I  never  thought 
of  that.  He  got  it  up  at  the  Plateau.  He  left  it  behind 
him.     They  have  got  it  up  there  now." 

"  Not  now— "   ' 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Oscard  ?" 

"  Merely  that  all  those  fellows  up  there  are  dead.  There 
is  ninety  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  Simiacine  packed  ready 
for  carrying  to  the  coast,  standing  in  a  pile  on  the  Plateau, 
and  there  are  thirty-four  dead  men  keeping  watch  over  it." 

"  Is  it  as  infectious  as  that  ?" 

"  When  it  first  shows  itself,  infectious  is  not  the  word. 
It  is  nothing  but  a  plague.  Not  one  of  those  fellows  can 
have  escaped." 

Jack  Meredith  sat  forward  and  rubbed  his  two  hands  pen- 
sively over  his  knees. 

"  So,"  he  said,  "  only  you  and  I  and  Joseph  know  where 
Ijhe  Simiacine  Plateau  is." 

"  That  is  so,"  answered  Oscard. 

"  And  Joseph  won't  go  back  ?" 

"Not  if  you  were  to  give  him  that  ninety  thousand 
pounds'  worth  of  stuff." 

"And  you  will  not  go  back?" 

"Not  for  nine  hundred  thousand  pounds.  There  is  a 
curse  on  that  place." 

"  I  believe  there  is,"  said  Meredith. 

And  such  was  the  end  of  the  great  Simiacine  Scheme — 
the  wonder  of  a  few  seasons.  Some  day,  when  the  Great 
Sahara  is  turned  into  an  inland  sea,  when  steamers  shall  ply 
where  sand  now  flies  before  the  desert  wind,  the  Plateau 
may  be  found  again.  Some  day,  when  Africa  is  cut  from 
east  to  west  by  a  railway  line,  some  adventurous  soul  will 
scale  the  height  of  one  of  many  mountains,  one  that  seems 
no  different  from  the  rest  and  yet  is  held  in  awe  by  the 


A    STIIONO    FRIENDSHIP 


317 


phantom-haunted  denizens  of  the  gloomy  forest,  and  there 
he  will  find  a  pyramid  of  wooden  cases  surrounded  by 
bleached  and  scattered  bones  where  vultures  have  fed. 

In  the  meantime  the  precious  drug  will  grow  scarcer  day 
by  day,  and  the  human  race  will  be  poorer  by  the  loss  of 
one  of  those  half-matured  discoveries  which  have  more  than 
once  in  the  world's  history  been  on  the  point  of  raising  the 
animal  called  man  to  a  higher,  stronger,  finer  development 
of  brain  and  muscle  than  we  can  conceive  of  under  existing 
circumstances.  Who  can  tell?  Perhaps  the  strange,  solitary 
bush  may  be  found  growing  elsewhere — in  some  other  con- 
tinent across  the  ocean.  The  ways  of  Nature  are  past  com- 
prehension, and  no  man  can  say  who  sows  the  seed  that  crops 
up  in  strange  places.  The  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth  and 
none  can  tell  what  germs  it  bears.  It  seems  hardly  credible 
that  the  Plateau,  no  bigger  than  a  cricket  field,  far  away  in 
the  waste-land  of  Central  Africa,  can  be  the  only  spot  on  this 
planet  where  the  magic  leaf  grows  in  sufficient  profusion  to 
supply  suffering  humanity  with  an  alleviating  drug,  unrivalled 
— a  strength-giving  herb,  unapproached  in  power.  But  as 
yet  no  other  Simiacine  has  been  found  and  the  Plateau  is 
lost. 

And  the  end  of  it  was  two  men  who  had  gone  to  look 
for  it  two  years  before — young  and  hearty — returning  from 
the  search  successful  beyond  their  highest  hopes,  with  a 
shadow  in  their  eyes  and  gray  upon  their  heads. 

They  sat  for  nearly  two  hours  in  that  room  in  the  quiet 
house  in  Russell  Square,  where  the  cabs  do  not  pass,  and 
their  conversation  was  of  money.  They  sat  until  they  had 
closed  the  Simiacine  account,  never  to  be  reopened.  They 
discussed  the  question  of  renouncement,  and,  after  due  con- 
sideration, concluded  that  the  gain  was  rightly  theirs  seeing 
that  the  risk  had  all  been  theirs.  Slaves  and  slave-owner 
had  both  taken  their  cause  to  a  Higher  Court,  where  the  dc 
fendant  has  no  worry  and  the  plaintiff  is  at  rest.  They 
were  beyond  the  reach  of  money  —  beyond  the  glitter  of 


318  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

gold — far  from  the  cry  of  anguish.  A  fortune  was  set  aside 
for  Marie  Durnovo,  to  be  held  in  trust  for  the  children  of 
the  man  who  had  found  the  Simiacine  Plateau  ;  another 
was  apportioned  to  Joseph. 

"  Seventy-seven  thousand  one  hundred  and  four  pounds 
for  you,"  said  Jack  Meredith,  at  length,  laying  aside  his  pen, 
"  seventy-seven  thousand  one  hundred  and  four  pounds  for 
me.  And,"  he  added,  after  a  little  pause,  "it  was  not 
worth  it." 

Guy  Oscard  smoked  his  pipe  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Now,"  said  Jack  Meredith,  "  I  must  go.  I  must  be  out 
of  London  by  to-morrow  morning.  I  shall  go  abroad — 
America  or  somewhere." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  Oscard  made  no  attempt  to  re- 
strain him. 

They  went  out  into  the  passage  together.  Oscard  opened 
the  door  and  followed  his  companion  to  the  step. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Meredith,  "  we  shall  meet  some  time — 
somewhere  ?" 

"  Yes." 

They  shook  hands. 

Jack  Meredith  went  down  the  steps  almost  reluctantly. 
At  the  foot  of  the  short  flight  he  turned  and  looked  up  at 
the  strong,  peaceful  form  of  his  friend. 

"  What  will  you  do  ?"  he  said. 

"  I  shall  go  back  to  my  big  game,"  replied  Guy  Oscard. 
"  I  am  best  at  that.     But  I  shall  not  go  to  Africa." 


CHAPTER  XLIII 
A    LONG    DEBT 

"The  life  unlived,  the  deed  undone,  the  tear 
Unshed." 

"I  rather  expect — Lady  Cantourne,"  said  Sir  John  to 
his  servants  when  he  returned  home,  "  any  time  between 
now  and  ten  o'clock." 

The  butler,  having  a  vivid  recollection  of  an  occasion 
when  Lady  Cantourne  was  shown  into  a  drawing-room 
where  there  were  no  flowers,  made  his  preparations  accord- 
ingly. The  flowers  were  set  out  with  that  masculine  igno- 
rance of  such  matters  which  brings  a  smile — not  wholly  of 
mirth — to  a  woman's  face.  The  little-used  drawing-room 
was  brought  under  the  notice  of  the  house-keeper  for  that 
woman's  touch  which  makes  a  drawing-room  what  it  is.  It 
was  always  ready — this  room,  though  Sir  John  never  sat  in 
it.     But  for  Lady  Cantourne  it  was  always  more  than  ready. 

Sir  John  went  to  the  library  and  sat  rather  wearily  down 
in  the  stiff-backed  chair  before  the  fire.  He  began  by  tak- 
ing up  the  evening  newspaper,  but  failed  to  find  his  eye- 
glasses, which  had  twisted  up  in  some  aggravating  manner 
with  his  necktie.  So  he  laid  aside  the  journal  and  gave 
way  to  the  weakness  of  looking  into  the  fire. 

Once  or  twice  his  head  dropped  forward  rather  suddenly 
so  that  his  clean-shaven  chin  touched  his  tie-pin,  and  this 
without  a  feeling  of  sleepiness  warranting  the  relaxation  of 
the  spinal  column.  He  sat  up  suddenly  on  each  occasion 
and  threw  back  his  shoulders. 

"  Almost  seems,"  he  muttered  once,  "  as  if  I  were  getting 
to  be  an  old  man." 


320  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

After  that  he  remembered  nothing  until  the  butler,  com- 
ing in  with  the  lamp,  said  that  Lady  Cantourne  was  in  the 
drawing-room.  The  man  busied  himself  with  the  curtains, 
carefully  avoiding  a  glance  in  his  master's  direction.  No 
one  had  ever  found  Sir  John  asleep  in  a  chair  during  the 
hours  that  other  people  watch,  and  this  faithful  old  servant 
was  not  going  to  begin  to  do  so  now. 

"  Ah,"  said  Sir  John,  surreptitiously  composing  his  collar 
and  voluminous  necktie,  "  thank  you." 

He  rose  and  glanced  at  the  clock.  It  was  nearly  seven. 
He  had  slept  through  the  most  miserable  hour  of  Millicent 
Chyne's  life. 

At  the  head  of  the  spacious  staircase  he  paused  in  front 
of  the  mirror,  half  hidden  behind  exotics,  and  pressed  down 
his  wig  behind  either  ear.  Then  he  went  into  the  drawing- 
room. 

Lady  Cantourne  was  standing  impatiently  on  the  hearth- 
rug, and  scarcely  responded  to  his  bow. 

"Has  Jack  been  here?"  she  asked. 

"  No." 

She  stamped  a  foot,  still  neat  despite  its  long  journey 
over  a  road  that  had  never  been  very  smooth.  Her  manner 
was  that  of  a  commander-in-chief,  competent  but  unfortu- 
nate in  the  midst  of  a  great  reverse. 

"  He  has  not  been  here  this  afternoon  ?" 

"  No,"  answered  Sir  John,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

"  And  you  have  not  heard  anything  from  him  ?" 

"  Not  a  word.  As  you  know,  I  am  not  fortunate  enough 
to  be  fully  in  his  confidence." 

Lady  Cantourne  glanced  round  the  room  as  if  looking  for 
some  object  upon  which  to  fix  her  attention.  It  was  a 
characteristic  movement  which  he  knew,  although  he  had 
only  seen  it  once  or  twice  before.  It  indicated  that  if  there 
was  an  end  to  Lady  Cantourne's  wit,  she  had  almost  reached 
that  undesirable  bourne. 

"  He  has  broken  off  his  engagement,"  she  said,  looking 


A    LONG    DEBT  321 

her  companion  very  straight  in  the  face,  "now —  at  the 
eleventh  hour.     Do  you  know  anything  about  it?" 

She  came  closer  to  him,  looking  up  from  her  compact 
little  five-feet-two  with  discerning  eyes. 

"John!"  she  exclaimed. 

She  came  still  nearer  and  laid  her  gloved  hands  upon  his 
sleeve. 

"John  !  you  know  something  about  this." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  more,"  he  said,  suavely.  "  I  am 
afraid — Millicent  will  be  inconvenienced." 

Lady  Cantourne  looked  keenly  at  him  for  a  moment. 
Physically  she  almost  stood  on  tiptoe,  mentally  she  did  it 
without  disguise.  Then  she  turned  away  and  sat  on  a  chair 
which  had  always  been  set  apart  for  her. 

"  It  is  a  question,"  she  said,  gravely,  "  whether  any  one 
has  a  right  to  punish  a  woman  so  severely." 

The  corner  of  Sir  John's  mouth  twitched. 

"  I  would  rather  punish  her  than  have  Jack  punished  for 
the  rest  of  his  life." 

"  Et  moi  ?"  she  snapped,  impatiently. 

"  Ah  !"  with  a  gesture  learned  in  some  foreign  court,  "  I 
can  only  ask  your  forgiveness.  I  can  only  remind  you  that 
she  is  not  your  daughter — if  she  were  she  would  be  a  differ- 
ent woman — while  he  is  ray  son. 

Lady  Cantourne  nodded  as  if  to  indicate  that  he  need  ex- 
plain no  more. 

"  How  did  you  do  it  ?"  she  asked,  quietly. 

"  I  did  not  do  it.  I  merely  suggested  to  Guy  Oscard 
that  he  should  call  on  you.  Millicent  and  her  fiance — the 
other — were  alone  in  the  drawing-room  when  we  arrived. 
Thinking  that  I  might  be  de  trop,  I  withdrew,  and  left  the 
young  people  to  settle  it  among  themselves,  which  they 
have  apparently  done  !  I  am,  like  yourself,  a  great  advocate 
for  allowing  young  people  to  settle  things  among  them- 
selves. They  are  also  welcome  to  their  enjoyment  of  the 
consequences  so  far  as  I  am  concerned." 


322  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

"  But  Millicent  was  never  engaged  to  Guy  Oscard." 

*'  Did  she  tell  you  so  ?"  asked  Sir  John,  with  a  queer  smile. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  believed  her  ?" 

"  Of  course — and  you?" 

Sir  John  smiled  his  courtliest  smile. 

"I  always  believe  a  lady,"  he  answered,  "before  her  face. 
Mr.  Guy  Oscard  gave  it  out  in  Africa  that  he  was  engaged 
to  be  married,  and  he  even  declared  that  he  was  returning 
home  to  be  married.  Jack  did  the  same  in  every  respect. 
Unfortunately,  there  was  only  one  fond  heart  waiting  for 
the  couple  of  them  at  home.  That  is  why  I  thought  it  ex- 
pedient to  give  the  young  people  an  opportunity  of  settling 
it  between  themselves." 

The  smile  left  his  worn  old  face.  He  moved  uneasily 
and  walked  to  the  fireplace,  where  he  stood  with  his  un- 
steady hands  moving  idly,  almost  nervously,  among  the 
ornaments  on  the  mantel -piece.  He  committed  the  rare 
discourtesy  of  almost  turning  his  back  upon  a  lady. 

"I  must  ask  you  to  believe,"  he  said,  looking  anywhere 
but  at  her,  "that  I  did  not  forget  you  in  the  matter.  I 
may  seem  to  have  acted  with  an  utter  disregard  for  your 
feelings—" 

He  broke  off  suddenly,  and,  turning,  he  stood  on  the 
hearth-rug  with  his  feet  apart,  his  hands  clasped  behind  his 
back,  his  head  slightly  bowed. 

"  I  drew  on  the  reserve  of  an  old  friendship,"  he  said. 
"  You  were  kind  enough  to  say  the  other  day  that  you  were 
indebted  to  me  to  some  extent.  You  are  indebted  to  me  to 
a  larger  extent  than  you  perhaps  realize.  You  owe  me  fifty 
years  of  happiness — fifty  years  of  a  life  that  might  have 
been  happy  had  you  decided  differently  when — when  we 
were  younger.  I  do  not  blame  you  now — I  never  blamed 
you.  But  the  debt  is  there— you  know  my  life,  you  know 
almost  every  day  of  it — you  cannot  deny  the  debt.  I  drew 
upon  that." 


A    LONG    DEBT  323 

And  the  white-haired  woman  raised  her  hand. 

"  Don't,"  she  said,  gently,  "  please  don't  say  any  more. 
I  know  all  that  your  life  has  been,  and  why.  You  did  quite 
right.  What  is  a  little  trouble  to  me,  a  little  passing  incon- 
venience, the  tattle  of  a  few  idle  tongues,  compared  with 
what  Jack's  life  is  to  you  ?  I  see  now  that  I  ought  to  have 
opposed  it  strongly  instead  of  letting  it  take  its  course. 
You  were  right — you  always  have  been  right,  John.  There 
is  a  sort  of  consolation  in  the  thought.  I  like  it.  I  like  to 
think  that  you  were  always  right  and  that  it  was  I  who  was 
wrong.  It  confirms  ray  respect  for  you.  We  shall  get  over 
this  somehow." 

"  The  young  lady,"  suggested  Sir  John,  "  will  get  over  it 
after  the  manner  of  her  kind.  She  will  man*y  some  one 
else,  let  us  hope,  before  her  wedding-dress  goes  out  of 
fashion." 

"  Millicent  will  have  to  get  over  it  as  she  may.  Her 
feelings  need  scarcely  be  taken  into  consideration." 

Lady  Cantourne  made  a  little  movement  towards  the 
door.  There  was  much  to  see  to — much  of  that  women's 
work  which  makes  weddings  the  wild,  confused  ceremonies 
that  they  are. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Sir  John,  "  that  I  never  thought  of 
taking  them  into  consideration.  As  you  know,  I  hardly 
considered  yours.  I  hope  I  have  not  overdrawn  that  re- 
serve." 

He  had  crossed  the  room  as  he  spoke  to  open  the  door 
for  her.  His  fingers  were  on  the  handle,  but  he  did  not 
turn  it,  awaiting  her  answer.  She  did  not  look  at  him, 
but  passed  him  towards  the  shaded  lamp,  with  that  desire 
lo  fix  her  attention  upon  some  inanimate  object  which  he 
knew  of  old. 

"  The  reserve,"  she  answered,  "  will  stand  more  than  that. 
It  has  accumulated — with  compound  interest.  But  I  deny 
the  debt  of  which  you  spoke  just  now.  There  is  no  debt. 
I  have  paid  it,  year  by  year,  day  by  day.     For  each  one  "f 


324  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

those  fifty  years  of  unhappiness  I  have  paid  a  year  —  of 
regret." 

He  opened  the  door  and  she  passed  out  into  the  brilliantly 
lighted  passage  and  down  the  stairs,  where  the  servants 
were  waiting  to  open  the  door  and  help  her  to  her  carriage. 

Sir  John  did  not  go  down-stairs  with  her. 

Later  on  he  dined  in  his  usual  solitary  grandeur.  He 
was  as  carefully  dressed  as  ever.  The  discipline  of  his 
household— like  the  discipline  under  which  he  held  himself 
— was  unrelaxed. 

"  What  wine  is  this  ?"  he  asked,when  he  had  tasted  the  port. 

"  Yellow  seal,  sir,"  replied  the  butler,  confidentially. 

Sir  John  sipped  again. 

"  It  is  a  new  bin,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  sir.     First  bottle  of  the  lower  bin,  sir." 

Sir  John  nodded  with  an  air  of  self-satisfaction.  He  was 
pleased  to  have  proved  to  himself  and  to  the  "  damned 
butler,"  who  had  caught  him  napping  in  the  library,  that  he 
was  still  a  young  man  in  himself,  with  senses  and  taste  un- 
impaired. But  his  hand  was  at  the  small  of  his  back  as  he 
returned  to  the  library. 

He  was  not  at  all  sure  about  Jack  —  did  not  know 
whether  to  expect  him  or  not.  Jack  did  not  always  do 
what  one  might  have  expected  him  to  do  under  given  cir- 
cumstances. And  Sir  John  rather  liked  him  for  it.  Perhaps 
it  was  that  small  taint  of  heredity  which  was  in  blood,  and 
makes  it  thicker  than  water. 

"  Nothing  like  blood,  sir,"  he  was  in  the  habit  of  saying, 
"  in  horses,  dogs,  and  men."  And  thereafter  he  usually 
threw  back  his  shoulders. 

The  good  blood  that  ran  in  his  veins  was  astir  to-night. 
The  incidents  of  the  day  had  aroused  him  from  the  peace- 
fulness  that  lies  under  a  weight  of  years  (we  have  to  lift  the 
years  one  by  one  and  lay  them  aside  before  we  find  it),  and 
Sir  John  Meredith  would  have  sat  very  upright  in  his  chair 
were  it  not  for  that  carping  pain  in  his  back. 


A    LONG    DEBT  325 

He  waited  for  an  hour  with  his  eyes  almost  continually 
on  the  clock,  but  Jack  never  came.     Then  he  rang  the  bell. 

"  Coffee,"  he  said.     "  I  like  punctuality,  if  you  please." 

"Thought  Mr.  Meredith  might  be  expected,  sir,"  mur- 
mured the  butler,  humbly. 

Sir  John  was  reading  the  evening  paper,  or  appearing  to 
read  it,  although  he  had  not  his  glasses. 

"Oblige  me  by  refraining  from  thought,"  he  said,  ur- 
banely. 

So  the  coffee  was  brought,  and  Sir  John  consumed  it  in 
silent  majesty.  While  he  was  pouring  out  his  second  cup 
— of  a  diminutive  size — the  bell  rang.  He  set  down  the 
silver  coffee-pot  with  a  plebeian  clatter,  as  if  his  nerves  were 
not  quite  so  good  as  they  used  to  be. 

It  was  not  Jack,  but  a  note  from  him. 

"  My  dear  Father, — Circumstances  have  necessitated  the  breaking 
off  of  my  engagement  at  the  last  moment.  To-morrow's  ceremony 
will  not  take  place.  As  the  above-named  circumstances  were  partly 
under  your  control,  I  need  hardly  offer  an  explanation.  I  leave  town 
and  probably  England  to-night. 

"  I  am,  your  affectionate  son,  John  Meredith." 

There  were  no  signs  of  haste  or  discomposure.  The  letter 
was  neatly  written  in  the  somewhat  large  caligraphy,  firm, 
bold,  ornate,  which  Sir  John  had  insisted  on  Jack's  learn- 
ing. The  stationery  bore  a  club  crest.  It  was  an  eminently 
gentlemanly  communication.  Sir  John  read  it  and  gravely 
tore  it  up,  throwing  it  into  the  fire,  where  he  watched  it 
burn. 

Nothing  was  further  from  his  mind  than  sentiment.  He 
was  not  much  given  to  sentiment,  this  hard-hearted  old  sire 
of  an  ancient  stock.  He  never  thought  of  the  apocryphal 
day  when  he,  being  laid  in  his  grave,  should  at  last  win  the 
gratitude  of  his  son. 

"  When  I  am  dead  and  gone  you  may  be  sorry  for  it " 
were  not  the  words  that  any  man  should  hear  from  his  lips. 


326  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

More  than  once  during  their  lives  Lady  Cantourne  bad 
said : 

"  You  never  change  your  mind,  John,"  referring  to  one 
thing  or  another.    And  he  had  invariably  answered : 

"  No,  I  am  not  the  sort  of  man  to  change." 

He  had  always  known  his  own  mind.  When  he  had 
been  in  a  position  to  rule  he  had  done  so  with  a  rod  of 
iron.  His  purpose  had  ever  been  inflexible.  Jack  had  been 
the  only  person  who  had  ever  openly  opposed  his  desire. 
In  this,  as  in  other  matters,  his  indomitable  will  had  carried 
the  day,  and  in  the  moment  of  triumph  it  is  only  the  weak 
who  repine.  Success  should  have  no  disappointment  for 
the  man  who  has  striven  for  it  if  his  will  be  strong. 

Sir  John  rather  liked  the  letter.  It  could  only  have  been 
written  by  a  son  of  his — admitting  nothing,  not  even  defeat. 
But  he  was  disappointed.  He  had  hoped  that  Jack  would 
come — that  some  sort  of  a  reconciliation  would  be  patched 
up.  And  somehow  the  disappointment  affected  him  phys- 
ically. It  attacked  him  in  the  back,  and  intensified  the 
pain  there.  It  made  him  feel  weak  and  unlike  himself. 
He  rang  the  bell. 

"  Go  round,"  he  said  to  the  butler,  "  to  Dr.  Damer,  and 
ask  him  to  call  in  during  the  evening  if  he  has  time." 

The  butler  busied  himself  with  the  coffee-tray,  hesitating, 
desirous  of  gaining  time. 

"  Anything  wrong,  sir  ?  I  hope  you  are  not  feeling  ill," 
he  said,  nervously. 

"  111,  sir !"  cried  Sir  John.  "  Damn  it,  no ;  do  I  look  ill  2 
Just  obey  my  orders,  if  you  please." 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

MADE    UP 

"My  faith  is  large  in  Time, 
And  that  which  shapes  it  to  some  perfect  end." 

"Mr  dear  Jack, — At  the  risk  of  being  considered  an  interfering 
old  woman,  I  write  to  ask  you  whether  you  are  not  soon  coming 
to  England  again.  As  you  are  aware,  your  father  and  I  knew  each 
other  as  children.  We  have  known  each  other  ever  since — we  are 
now  almost  the  only  survivors  of  our  generation.  My  reason  for 
troubling  you  with  this  communication  is  that  during  the  last 
six  months  I  have  noticed  a  very  painful  change  in  your  father. 
He  is  getting  very  old  —  he  has  no  one  but  servants  about  him. 
You  know  his  manner — it  is  difficult  for  any  one  to  approach  him, 
even  for  me.  If  you  could  come  home — by  accident — I  think  that 
you  will  never  regret  it  in  after-life.  I  need  not  suggest  discre- 
tion as  to  this  letter. 

"Your  affectionate  friend, 

"  Caroline  Cantocrne." 

Jack  Meredith  read  this  letter  in  the  coffee-room  of  the 
.  Hotel  of  the  Four  Seasons  at  Wiesbaden.  It  was  a  lovely 
morning  —  the  sun  shone  down  through  the  trees  of  the 
Friedrichstrasse  upon  that  spotless  pavement,  of  which  the 
stricken  wot ;  the  fresh  breeze  came  bowling  down  from  the 
Taunus  mountains  all  balsamic  and  invigorating — it  picked 
up  the  cdors  of  the  seringa  and  flowering  currant  in  the 
Kurgarten,  and  threw  itself  in  at  the  open  window  of  the 
coffee-room  of  the  Hotel  of  the  Four  Seasons. 

Jack  Meredith  was  restless.  Such  odors  as  are  borne  on 
the  morning  breeze  are  apt  to  make  those  men  restless  who 
have  not  all  that  they  want.  And  is  not  their  name  legion  ? 
The  morning  breeze  is  to  the  strong  the  moonlight  of  the 


328  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

sentimental.  That  which  makes  one  vaguely  yearn  incites 
the  other  to  get  up  and  take. 

By  the  train  leaving  Wiesbaden  for  Cologne,  "  over 
Mainz,"  as  the  guide-book  hath  it,  Jack  Meredith  left  for 
England,  in  which  country  he  had  not  set  foot  for  fifteen 
months.  Guy  Oscard  was  in  Cashmere ;  the  Simiacine  was 
almost  forgotten  as  a  nine  days'  wonder  except  by  those 
who  live  by  the  ills  of  mankind.  Millicent  Chyne  had  de- 
generated into  a  restless  society  "hack."  With  great  skill 
she  had  posed  as  a  martyr.  She  had  allowed  it  to  be  un- 
derstood that  she,  having  remained  faithful  to  Jack  Mere- 
dith through  his  time  of  adversity,  had  been  heartlessly 
thrown  over  when  fortune  smiled  upon  him  and  there  was 
a  chance  of  his  making  a  more  brilliant  match.  With  a 
chivalry  which  was  not  without  a  keen  shaft  of  irony  father 
and  son  allowed  this  story  to  pass  uncontradicted.  Perhaps 
a  few  believed  it ;  perhaps  they  had  foreseen  the  future. 
It  may  have  been  that  they  knew  that  Millicent  Chyne, 
surrounded  by  the  halo  of  whatever  story  she  might  invent, 
would  be  treated  with  a  certain  careless  nonchalance  by  the 
older  men,  with  a  respectful  avoidance  by  the  younger. 
Truly  women  have  the  deepest  punishment  for  their  sins 
here  on  earth ;  for  sooner  or  later  the  time  will  come — 
after  the  brilliancy  of  the  first  triumph,  after  the  less  pure 
satisfaction  of  the  skilled  siren  —  the  time  will  come  when 
all  that  they  want  is  an  enduring,  honest  love.  And  it  is 
written  that  an  enduring  love  cannot,  with  the  best  will  in 
the  world,  be  bestowed  on  an  unworthy  object.  If  a  woman 
wishes  to  be  loved  purely  she  must  have  a  pure  heart,  and 
no  past,  ready  for  the  reception  of  that  love.  This  is  a 
sine  qua  non.     The  woman  with  a  past  has  no  future. 

The  short  March  day  was  closing  in  over  London  with 
that  murky  suggestion  of  hopelessness  affected  by  metro- 
politan even-tide  when  Jack  Meredith  presented  himself  at 
the  door  of  his  father's  house. 

In  his  reception  by  the  servants  there  was  a  subtle  sug- 


MADE    UP  329 

gestion  of  expectation  which  was  not  lost  on  his  keen 
mind.  There  is  no  patience  like  that  of  expectation  in  an 
old  heart.  Jack  Meredith  felt  vaguely  that  he  had  been  ex- 
pected thus,  daily,  for  many  months  past. 

He  was  shown  into  the  library,  and  the  tall  form  stand- 
ing there  on  the  hearth-rug  had  not  the  outline  for  which 
he  had  looked.  The  battle  between  old  age  and  a  stubborn 
will  is  long.  But  old  age  wins.  It  never  raises  the  siege. 
It  starves  the  garrison  out.  Sir  John  Aleredith's  head 
seemed  to  have  shrunk.  The  wig  did  not  fit  at  the  back. 
His  clothes,  always  bearing  the  suggestion  of  emptiness, 
seemed  to  hang  on  ancient  -  given  lines  as  if  the  creases 
were  well  established.  The  clothes  were  old.  The  fateful 
doctrine  of  not-worth-while  had  set  in. 

Father  and  son  shook  hands,  and  Sir  John  walked  feebly 
to  the  stiff-backed  chair,  where  he  sat  down  in  shamefaced 
silence.  He  was  ashamed  of  his  infirmities.  His  was  the 
instinct  of  the  dog  that  goes  away  into  some  hidden  corner 
to  die. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said,  using  his  two  hands  to 
push  himself  farther  back  in  his  chair. 

There  was  a  little  pause.  The  fire  was  getting  low.  It 
fell  together  with  a  feeble,  crumbling  sound. 

"  Shall  I  put  some  coals  on  ?"  asked  Jack. 

A  simple  question — if  you  will.  But  it  was  asked  by 
the  son  in  such  a  tone  of  quiet,  filial  submission,  that  a 
whole  volume  could  not  contain  all  that  it  said  to  the  old 
man's  proud,  unbending  heart. 

"  Yes,  my  boy,  do." 

And  the  last  six  years  were  wiped  away  like  evil  writing 
from  a  slate. 

There  was  no  explanation.  These  two  men  were  not  of 
those  who  explain  themselves,  and  in  the  warmth  of  expla- 
nation say  things  which  they  do  not  fully  mean.  The 
opinions  that  each  had  held  during  the  years  they  had  left 
behind  had  perhaps  been  modified  on  both  sides,  but  neither 


330  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

sought  details  of  the  modification.     They  knew  each  other 
now,  and  each  respected  the  indomitable  will  of  the  other. 

They  inquired  after  each  other's  health.  They  spoke  of 
events  of  a  common  interest.  Trifles  of  every- day  occui> 
rence  seemed  to  contain  absorbing  details.  But  it  is  the 
every-day  occurrence  that  makes  the  life.  It  was  the  put- 
ting on  of  the  coals  that  reconciled  these  two  men. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Sir  John,  "  you  gave  up  your  rooms 
before  you  left  England,  did  you  not?" 

"  Yes." 

Jack  drew  forward  his  chair  and  put  his  feet  out  towards 
the  fire.  It  was  marvellous  how  thoroughly  at  home  he 
seemed  to  be. 

"Then,"  continued  Sir  John,  "  where  is  your  luggage?" 

"  I  left  it  at  the  club." 

"  Send  along  for  it.  Your  room  is — er,  quite  ready  for 
you.  I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will  make  use  of  it  as  long  as 
you  like.  You  will  be  free  to  come  and  go  as  if  you  were 
in  your  own  house." 

Jack  nodded  with  a  strange,  twisted  little  smile,  as  if  he 
were  suffering  from  cramp  in  the  legs.  It  was  cramp — at 
the  heart. 

"  Thanks,"  he  said,  "  I  should  like  nothing  better.  Shall 
I  ring?" 

"  If  you  please." 

Jack  rang  and  they  waited  in  the  fading  daylight  with- 
out speaking.  At  times  Sir  John  moved  his  limbs,  his 
hand  on  the  arm  of  the  chair  and  his  feet  on  the  hearth-rug, 
with  the  jerky,  half-restless  energy  of  the  aged  which  is  not 
pleasant  to  see. 

When  the  servant  came  it  was  Jack  who  gave  the  orders, 
and  the  butler  listened  to  them  with  a  sort  of  enthusiasm. 
When  he  had  closed  the  door  behind  him  he  pulled  down 
his  waistcoat  with  a  jerk,  and  as  he  walked  down-stairs  he 
muttered  "Thank  'eaven  !"  twice,  and  wiped  away  a  tear 
from  his  bibulous  eye. 


MADE    UP  331 

"What  have  yon  been  doing  with  yourself  since — I  saw 
you?"  inquired  Sir  John,  conversationally,  when  the  door 
was  closed. 

"  I  have  been  out  to  India — merely  for  the  voyage.  I 
went  with  Oscard,  who  is  out  there  still,  after  big  game." 

Sir  John  Meredith  nodded. 

"  I  like  that  man,"  he  said  ;  "  he  is  tough.  I  like  tough 
men.  He  wrote  me  a  letter  before  he  went  away.  It  was 
the  letter  of — one  gentleman  to  another.  Is  he  going  to 
spend  the  rest  of  his  life  '  after  big  game  V  " 

Jack  laughed. 

"  It  seems  rather  like  it.  He  is  cut  out  for  that  sort  of 
life.     He  is  too  big  for  narrow  streets  and  cramped  houses." 

"  And  matrimony  V 

"Yes — and  matrimony." 

Sir  John  was  leaning  forward  in  his  chair,  his  two  with- 
ered hands  clasped  on  his  knees. 

"  You  know,"  he  said,  slowly,  blinking  at  the  fire,  "  he 
cared  for  that  girl — more  than  you  did,  my  boy." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Jack,  softly. 

Sir  John  looked  towards  him,  but  he  said  nothing.  His 
attitude  was  interrogatory.  There  were  a  thousand  ques- 
tions in  the  turn  of  his  head,  questions  which  one  gentle- 
man could  not  ask  another. 

Jack  met  his  gaze.  They  were  still  wonderfully  alike, 
these  two  men,  though  one  was  in  his  prime  while  the 
other  was  infirm.  On  each  face  there  was  the  stamp  of  a 
long-drawn  silent  pride  ;  each  was  a  type  of  those  haughty 
conquerors  who  stepped,  mail-clad,  on  our  shore  eight  hun- 
dred years  ago.  Form  and  feature,  mind  and  heart,  had 
been  handed  down  from  father  to  son,  as  great  types  are. 

"  One  may  have  the  right  feeling  and  bestow  it  by  mis- 
take on  the  wrong  person,"  said  Jack. 

Sir  John's  fingers  were  at  his  lips. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  rather  indistinctly,  "  while  the  right  per- 
son is  waiting  for  it." 


332  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

Jack  looked  up  sharply,  as  if  he  either  had  not  heard  or 
did  not  understand. 

"  While  the  right  person  is  waiting  for  it,"  repeated  Sir 
John,  deliberately. 

"  The  right  person — " 

"  Jocelyn  Gordon,"  explained  Sir  John,  "  is  the  right 
person." 

Jack  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  leaned  back  so  that  the 
firelight  did  not  shine  upon  his  face.  "  So  I  found  out 
eighteen  months  ago,"  he  said,  "  when  it  was  too  late." 

"  There  is  no  such  thing  as  too  late  for  that,"  said  Sir 
John,  in  his  great  wisdom.  "  Even  if  you  were  both  quite 
old  it  would  not  be  too  late.  I  have  known  it  longer  than 
you.     I  found  it  out  two  years  ago." 

Jack  looked  across  the  room  into  the  keen,  worldly-wise 
old  face. 

"How?"  he  inquired. 

"From  her.  I  found  it  out  the  moment  she  mentioned 
your  name.  I  conducted  the  conversation  in  such  a  manner 
that  she  had  frequently  to  say  it,  and  whenever  your  name 
crossed  her  lips  she — gave  herself  away." 

Jack  shook  his  head  with  an  incredulous  smile. 

"  Moreover,"  continued  Sir  John,  "  I  maintain  that  it  is 
not  too  late." 

There  followed  a  silence ;  both  men  seemed  to  be  wrapped 
in  thought,  the  same  thoughts  with  a  difference  of  forty 
years  of  life  in  the  method  of  thinking  them. 

"  I  could  not  go  to  her  with  a  lame  story  like  that,"  said 
Jack.     "  I  told  her  all  about  Millicent." 

"  It  is  just  a  lame  story  like  that  that  women  under- 
stand," answered  Sir  John.  "When  I  was  younger  I 
thought  as  you  do.  I  thought  that  a  man  must  needs  bring 
a  clean  slate  to  the  woman  he  asks  to  be  his  wife.  It  is 
only  his  hands  that  must  be  clean.  Women  see  deeper  into 
these  mistakes  of  ours  than  we  do ;  they  see  the  good  of 
them  where  we  only  see  the  wound  to  our  vanity.     Some- 


MADE    UP  333 

times  one  would  almost  be  inclined  to  think  that  they  pre- 
fer a  few  mistakes  in  the  past  because  it  makes  the  present 
surer.  Their  romance  is  a  different  thing  from  ours — it  is 
a  better  thing,  deeper  and  less  selfish.  They  can  wipe  the 
slate  clean  and  never  look  at  it  again.  And  the  best  of 
them — rather  like  the  task." 

Jack  made  no  reply.  Sir  John  Meredith's  chin  was  rest- 
ing on  his  vast  necktie.  He  was  looking  with  failing  eyes 
into  the  fire.  He  spoke  like  one  who  was  sure  of  himself 
— confident  in  his  slowly  accumulated  store  of  that  knowl- 
edge which  is  not  written  in  books. 

"  Will  you  oblige  me  ?"  he  asked. 

Jack  moved  in  his  chair,  but  he  made  no  answer.  Sir 
John  did  not  indeed  expect  it.     He  knew  his  son  too  well. 

"Will  you,"  he  continued,  "go  out  to  Africa  and  take 
your  lame  story  to  Jocelyn — just  as  it  is?" 

There  was  a  long  silence.  The  old  worn-out  clock  on 
the  mantel-piece  wheezed  aud  struck  six. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Jack,  at  length,  "  I  will  go." 

Sir  John  nodded  his  head  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  All,  in- 
deed, comes  to  him  who  waits. 

"  I  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  life,"  he  said,  suddenly, 
arousing  himself  and  sitting  upright  in  the  stiff-backed 
chair,  "  here  and  there  in  the  world ;  and  I  have  found  that 
the  happiest  people  are  those  who  began  by  thinking  that 
it  was  too  late.  The  romance  of  youth  is  only  fit  to  write, 
about  in  books.  It  is  too  delicate  a  fabric  for  every-day 
use.     It  soon  wears  out  or  gets  torn." 

Jack  did  not  seem  to  be  listening. 

"  But,"  continued  Sir  John,  "  you  must  not  waste  time. 
If  I  may  suggest  it,  you  will  do  well  to  go  at  once." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Jack,"  I  will  go  in  a  month  or  so.  I  should 
like  to  see  you  in  a  better  state  of  health  before  I  leave  you." 

Sir  John  pulled  himself  together.  He  threw  back  his 
shoulders  and  stiffeued  his  neck. 

"  My  health  is  excellent,"  he  replied,  sturdily.    "Of  course 


334  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

I  am  beginning  to  feel  my  years  a  little ;  but  one  must  ex- 
pect to  do  that  after — eh — er — sixty.     Cest  la  vie." 

He  made  a  little  movement  of  the  hands. 

"  No,"  he  went  on,  "  the  sooner  you  go  the  better." 

"  I  do  not  like  leaving  you,"  persisted  Jack. 

Sir  John  laughed  rather  testily. 

"  That  is  rather  absurd,"  he  said ;  "  I  am  accustomed  to 
being  left.  I  have  always  lived  alone.  You  will  do  me  a 
favor  if  you  will  go  now  and  take  your  passage  out  to  Africa." 

"Now — this  evening?" 

"  Yes — at  once.  The  offices  close  about  half-past  six,  I 
believe.     You  will  just  have  time  to  do  it  before  dinner." 

Jack  rose  and  went  towards  the  door.  He  went  slowly, 
almost  reluctantly. 

"  Do  not  trouble  about  me,"  said  Sir  John ;  "  1  am  accus- 
tomed to  being  left." 

He  repeated  it  when  the  door  had  closed  behind  his  son. 

The  fire  was  low  again — it  was  almost  dying.  The  day- 
light was  fading  every  moment.  The  cinders  fell  together 
with  a  crumbling  sound,  and  a  grayness  crept  into  their 
glowing  depths.  The  old  man  sitting  there  made  no  at- 
tempt to  add  fresh  fuel. 

"I  am  accustomed,"  he  said,  with  a  half -cynical  smile, 
"  to  being  left." 


CHAPTER  XLV 
THE     TELEGRAM 


"  How  could  it  end  in  any  other  way  ? 
You  called  me,  and  I  came  home  to  your  heart." 

"They  tell  me,  sir,  that  Missis  Marie  —  that  is,  Missis 
Dnrnovo — has  gone  back  to  her  people  at  Sierra  Leone." 

Thus  spoke  Joseph  to  his  master  one  afternoon  in  March, 
not  so  many  years  ago.     They  were  on  board  the  steamer 


THE    TELEGRAM  335 

Bogamayo,  which  good  vessel  was  pounding  down  the  West 
Coast  of  Africa  at  her  best  speed.  The  captain  reckoned 
that  he  would  be  anchored  at  Loango  by  half-past  seven  or 
eight  o'clock  that  evening.  There  were  only  seven  passen- 
gers on  board,  and  dinner  had  been  ordered  an  hour  earlier 
for  the  convenience  of  all  concerned.  Joseph  was  packing 
his  master's  clothes  in  the  spacious  cabin  allotted  to  him. 
The  owners  of  the  steamer  had  thought  it  worth  their  while 
to  make  the  finder  of  the  Simiacine  as  comfortable  as  cir- 
cumstances allowed.  The  noise  of  that  <jreat  drug  had  di- 
rected  towards  the  West  Coast  of  Africa  that  floating  scum 
of  ne'er-do-welldom  which  is  ever  on  the  alert  for  some  new 
land  of  promise. 

"Who  told  you  that?"  asked  Jack,  drying  his  hands  on 
a  towel. 

"One  of  the  stewards,  sir — a  man  that  was  laid  up  at 
Sierra  Leone  in  the  hospital." 

Jack  Meredith  paused  for  a  moment  before  going  on  deck. 
lie  looked  out  through  the  open  port-hole  towards  the  blue 
shadow  on  the  horizon  which  was  Africa — a  country  that 
he  had  never  seen  three  years  before,  and  which  had  all 
along  been  destined  to  influence  his  whole  life. 

"  It  was  the  best  thing  she  could  do,"  he  said.  "  It  is  to 
be  hoped  that  she  will  be  happy." 

"Yes,  sir,  it  is.  She  deserves  it,  if  that  goes  for  anything 
in  the  heavenly  reckonin'.  She's  a  fine  woman  —  a  good 
woman  that,  sir." 

"  Yes." 

Joseph  was  folding  a  shirt  very  carefully. 

"  A  bit  dusky,"  he  said,  smoothing  out  the  linen  folds 
reflectively;  "but  I  shouldn't  have  minded  that  if  I  had 
been  a  marryin'  man — but  I'm  not." 

He  laid  the  shirt  in  the  portmanteau  and  looked  up. 
Jack  Meredith  had  gone  on  deck. 

While  Maurice  and  Jocelyn  Gordon  was  still  at  dinner 
that  same  evening  a  messenger  came  announcing  the  arrival 


336  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

of  the  Bogamayo  in  the  roads.  This  news  had  the  effect  of 
curtailing  the  meal.  Maurice  Gordon  was  liable  to  be  called 
away  at  any  moment  thus  by  the  arrival  of  a  steamer.  It 
was  not  long  before  he  rose  from  the  table  and  lighted  a 
cigar  preparatory  to  going  down  to  his  office,  where  the  cap- 
tain of  the  steamer  was  by  this  time  probably  awaiting  him. 
It  was  a  full  moon,  and  the  glorious  golden  light  of  the 
equatorial  night  shone  through  the  high  trees  like  a  new 
dawn.  Hardly  a  star  was  visible ;  even  those  of  the  South- 
ern Hemisphere  pale  beside  the  Southern  moon. 

Maurice  Gordon  crossed  the  open  space  of  cultivated 
garden  and  plunged  into  the  black  shadow  of  the  forest. 
His  footsteps  were  inaudible.  Suddenly  he  ran  almost  into 
the  arms  of  a  man. 

"  Who  the  devil  is  that  ?"  he  cried. 
"  Meredith,"  answered  a  voice. 
"  Meredith — Jack  Meredith,  is  that  you  ?" 
"Yes." 

"  Well,  I'm  blowed !"  exclaimed  Maurice  Gordon,  shaking 
hands — "  likewise  glad.  What  brought  you  out  here  again  ?" 
"Oh,  pleasure  !"  replied  Jack,  with  his  face  in  the  shade. 
"Pleasure!  you've  come  to  the  wrong  place  for  that. 
However,  I'll  let  you  find  that  out  for  yourself.  Go  on  to 
the  bungalow ;  I'll  be  back  in  less  than  an  hour.  You'll 
find  Jocelyn  in  the  veranda." 

When  Maurice  left  her,  Jocelyn  went  out  into  the  ve- 
randa. It  was  the  beginning  of  the  hot  season.  At  mid- 
day the  sun  on  his  journey  northward  no  longer  cast  a 
shadow.  Jocelyn  could  not  go  out  in  the  daytime  at  this 
period  of  the  year.  For  fresh  air  she  had  to  rely  upon  a 
long,  dreamy  evening  in  the  veranda. 

She  sat  down  in  her  usual  chair  while  the  moonlight,  red 
and  glowing,  made  a  pattern  on  the  floor  and  on  her  white 
dress  with  the  shadows  of  the  creepers.  The  sea  was  very 
loud  that  night,  rising  and  falling  like  the  breath  of  some 
huge  sleeping  creature. 


THE    TELEGRAM  337 

Jocelyn  Gordon  fell  into  a  reverie.  Life  was  very  dull  at 
Loango.  There  was  too  much  time  for  thought  and  too 
little  to  think  about.  This  girl  only  had  the  past,  and  her 
past  was  all  comprised  in  a  few  months — the  few  months 
still  known  at  Loango  as  the  Simiacine  year.  She  had 
lapsed  into  a  bad  habit  of  thinking  that  her  life  was  over, 
that  the  daylight  of  it  had  waned,  and  that  there  was  noth- 
ing left  now  but  the  gray  remainder  of  the  evening.  She 
was  wondering  now  why  it  had  all  come — why  there  had 
been  any  daylight  at  all.  Above  these  thoughts  she  won- 
dered why  the  feeling  was  still  in  her  heart  that  Jack  Mere- 
dith had  not  gone  out  of  her  life  forever.  There  was  no 
reason  why  she  should  ever  meet  him  again.  He  was,  so 
far  as  she  knew,  married  to  Millicent  Chyne  more  than  a 
year  ago,  although  she  had  never  seen  the  announcement  of 
the  wedding.  He  had  drifted  into  Loango  and  into  her 
life  by  the  merest  accident;  and  now  that  the  Simiacine 
Plateau  had  been  finally  abandoned,  there  was  no  reason 
why  any  of  the  original  finders  should  come  to  Loango 
again. 

And  the  creepers  were  pushed  aside  by  one  who  knew 
the  method  of  their  growth.  A  silver  glory  of  moonlight 
fell  on  the  veranda  floor,  and  the  man  of  whom  she  was 
thinking  stood  before  her. 

"  You  I"  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes." 

She  rose,  and  they  shook  hands.  They  stood  looking  at 
each  other  for  a  few  moments,  and  a  thousand  things  that 
had  never  been  said  seemed  to  be  understood  between  them. 

"  Why  have  you  come  ?"  she  asked,  abruptly. 

"  To  tell  you  a  story." 

She  looked  up  with  a  sort  of  half-smile,  as  if  she  sus- 
pected some  pleasantry  of  which  she  had  not  yet  detected 
the  drift. 

"  A  long  story,"  he  explained,  "  which  has  not  even  the 
merit  of  being  amusing.     Please  sit  down  again." 


338  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

She  obeyed  hira. 

The  curtain  of  hanging  leaves  and  flowers  had  fallen  into 
place  again ;  the  shadowed  tracery  was  on  her  dress  and  on 
the  floor  once  more. 

He  stood  in  front  of  her  and  told  her  his  story,  as  Sir 
John  had  suggested.  He  threw  no  romance  into  it — at- 
tempted no  extenuation — but  related  the  plain,  simple  facts 
of  the  last  few  years  with  the  semi  -  cynical  suggestion  of 
humor  that  was  sometimes  his.  And  the  cloak  of  pride 
that  had  fallen  upon  his  shoulders  made  him  hide  much 
that  was  good,  while  he  dragged  forward  his  own  short- 
comings. She  listened  in  silence.  At  times  there  hovered 
round  her  lips  a  smile.  It  usually  came  when  he  repre- 
sented himself  in  a  bad  light,  and  there  was  a  suggestion  of 
superior  wisdom  in  it  as  if  she  knew  something  of  which  he 
was  ignorant. 

He  was  never  humble.  It  was  not  a  confession.  It  was 
not  even  an  explanation,  but  only  a  story — a  very  lame  story 
indeed — which  gained  nothing  by  the  telling.  And  he  was 
not  the  hero  of  it. 

And  all  came  about  as  wise  old  Sir  John  Meredith  had 
predicted.  It  is  not  our  business  to  record  what  Jocelyn 
said.  Women — the  best  of  them  —  have  some  things  in 
their  hearts  which  can  only  be  said  once  to  one  person. 
Men  cannot  write  them  down  ;  printers  cannot  print  them. 

The  lame  story  was  told  to  the  end,  and  at  the  end  it 
was  accepted.  When  Sir  John's  name  was  mentioned — 
when  the  interview  in  the  library  of  the  great  London  house 
was  briefly  touched  upon — Jack  saw  the  flutter  of  a  small 
lace  pocket-handkerchief,  and  at  no  other  time.  The  slate 
was  wiped  clean,  and  it  almost  seemed  that  Jocelyn  pre- 
ferred it  thus  with  the  scratches  upon  it  where  the  writing- 
had  been. 

Maurice  Gordon  did  not  come  back  in  an  hour.  It  was 
nearly  ten  o'clock  before  they  heard  his  footstep  on  the 
gravel.     By  that  time  Jocelyn  had  heard  the  whole  story. 


THE    TELEGRAM  339 

She  had  asked  one  or  two  questions  which  somehow  cast  a 
different  light  upon  the  narrative,  and  she  had  listened  to 
the  answers  with  a  grave,  judicial  little  smile — the  smile  of 
a  judge  whose  verdict  was  preordained,  whose  knowledge 
had  nothing  to  gain  from  evidence. 

Because  she  loved  him  she  took  his  story  and  twisted  it 
and  turned  it  to  a  shape  of  her  own  liking.  Those  items 
which  he  had  considered  important  she  passed  over  as  tri- 
fles; the  trifles  she  magnified  into  the  corner-stones  upon 
which  the  edifice  was  built.  She  set  the  lame  story  upon 
its  legs,  and  it  stood  upright.  She  believed  what  he  had 
never  told,  and  much  that  he  related  she  chose  to  discredit 
— because  she  loved  him.  She  perceived  motives  where  he 
assured  her  there  were  none ;  she  recognized  the  force  of 
circumstance  where  he  took  the  blame  to  himself — because 
she  loved  him.  She  maintained  that  the  past  was  good, 
that  he  could  not  have  acted  differently,  that  she  would  not 
have  had  it  otherwise — because  she  loved  him. 

And  who  shall  say  that  she  was  wrong? 

Jack  went  out  to  meet  Maurice  Gordon  when  they  heard 
his  footsteps,  and  as  they  walked  back  to  the  house  he  told 
him.     Gordon  was  quite  honest  about  it. 

"  I  hoped,"  he  said,  "  when  I  ran  against  you  in  the 
wood,  that  that  was  why  you  had  come  back.  Nothing 
could  have  given  me  greater  happiness.  Hang  it,  I  am 
glad,  old  chap !" 

They  sat  far  into  the  night  arranging  their  lives.  Jack 
was  nervously  anxious  to  get  back  to  England.  He  could 
not  rid  his  mind  of  the  picture  he  had  seen  as  he  left  his 
father's  presence  to  go  and  take  his  passage  to  Africa — the 
picture  of  an  old  man  sitting  in  a  stiff-backed  chair  before  a 
dying  fire.  Moreover,  he  was  afraid  of  Africa ;  the  Irrita- 
bility of  Africa  had  laid  its  hand  upon  him  almost  as  soon 
as  he  had  set  his  foot  upon  its  torrid  straud.  He  was  afraid 
of  the  climate  for  Jocelyn ;  he  was  afraid  of  it  for  himself. 
The  happiness  that  comes  late  must  be  firmly  held  to  ;  noth- 


340  WITH    EDGED    TOOLS 

ing  must  be  forgotten  to  secure  it,  or  else  it  may  slip  between 
the  fingers  at  the  last  moment. 

Those  who  have  snatched  happiness  late  in  life  can  tell  of 
a  thousand  details  carefully  attended  to — a  whole  existence 
laid  out  in  preparation  for  it,  of  health  fostered,  small  pleas- 
ures relinquished,  days  carefully  spent. 

Jack  Meredith  was  nervously  apprehensive  that  his  happi- 
ness might  even  now  slip  through  his  fingers.  Truly,  cli- 
matic influence  is  a  strange  and  wonderful  thing.  It  was 
Africa  that  had  done  this,  and  he  was  conscious  of  it.  He 
remembered  Victor  Durnovo's  strange  outburst  on  their  first 
meeting  a  few  miles  below  Msala  on  the  Ogowe  River,  and 
the  remembrance  only  made  him  the  more  anxious  that 
Jocelyn  and  he  should  turn  their  backs  upon  the  accursed 
West  Coast  forever. 

Before  they  went  to  bed  that  night  it  was  all  arranged. 
Jack  Meredith  had  carried  his  point.  Maurice  and  Jocelyn 
were  to  sail  with  him  for  England  by  the  first  boat.  Joce- 
lyn and  he  compiled  a  telegram  to  be  sent  off  first  thing  by 
a  native  boat  to  St.  Paul  de  Loanda.  It  was  addressed  to 
Sir  John  Meredith,  London,  and  signed  "  Meredith,  Loan- 
go."     The  text  of  it  was : 

"  I  bring  Jocelyn  home  by  first  boat." 

And  the  last  words,  like  the  first,  must  be  of  an  old  man 
in  London.  We  found  him  in  the  midst  of  a  brilliant  as- 
sembly ;  we  leave  him  alone.  We  leave  him  lying  stiffly  on 
his  solemn  four-post  bed,  with  his  keen,  proud  face  turned 
fearlessly  towards  his  Maker.  His  lips  are  still;  they  wear 
a  smile  which  even  in  death  is  slightly  cynical.  On  the 
table  at  his  bedside  lies  a  submarine  telegram  from  Africa. 
16  is  unopened. 

THE    END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A  A      000  258  487    8 


IS 


If 


